


An Information Bias

by GlasyaLabolas



Series: Nephila's Grimoire [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Horror, Humiliation, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Psychological Horror, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-10-02 10:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 47,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlasyaLabolas/pseuds/GlasyaLabolas
Summary: After acquiring a grimoire from an unusual client as thanks, Izaya's curiosity has him saddled with a dangerous demon.





	1. The Poor Man’s Instructional Manual

The pages of the book were entirely unreadable to him, with the exceptions of the stick-on notes in scrawled Japanese. Izaya couldn’t discern the language; a mass of lines, sharp shapes, and occasional extravagant symbols. If the book wasn’t the real deal, it certainly looked like an amazing fake. There was a soft discoloring to the pages due to age, but no rips or tears to suggest heavy use. His last client had been _interesting_ , to put it lightly, and had offered the grimoire as thanks for the job completed after glancing at the topics of Izaya’s shelves. Now, Izaya sat in his desk chair, using his foot to spin in place in between pages as he examined them. Skimming the notes was quick enough, most offering the barest information about the passage or page. Titles seemed to summarize purpose or usage, while personalized warnings were in smaller text under them.

 

One read: Blood Demon. _**V**_ _ **ery violent!**_ Dire emergency protection _**at best**_.

 

The words were underlined several times and made Izaya scoff.

 

Dullahans, vampires, demonic swords. Why couldn’t your stereotypical demon exist in this world as well?

 

Another read: Cleansing Demon. Worth it?

 

Time Demon. _**H**_ _ **igh prices!**_

 

Suffering Demon. For those with nothing to lose?

 

Love Demon. This note gave Izaya pause, his foot planting. _**D**_ _ **angerous!**_ He hummed at the page, eyes traveling over words he couldn’t comprehend and the intricate symbols carefully inked. He trailed his fingers over the largest, feeling the groves and textures the drawing instruments had made on the thick paper.

 

Izaya flipped to the next page with another scoff.

 

Information Demon. For the strong.

 

“The strong?” He mused aloud, a sour undertone to his voice. Plucking the note off of its page, he scanned the back. Succinct instructions for summoning were scribbled on the back, along with a phonetic writing of the chant required.

 

Alright, Izaya thought, this is the one then. His curiosity had risen with each turn of the page after accepting the grimoire. Would the book prove itself to be real or a fake? Are such mythological creatures so easily summoned to do your bidding? What exactly does the note insinuate by “for the strong”? Is this demon harder to control than others? Or is it saying that the kind of information you’d use a demon to seek for something only meant for the mentally strong, those that are able to accept such truths? Oh! How the informant wished to know! Wished to be one of the rare few on Earth to know such things! What could he ask it? What _would_ he ask it?

 

Any solid surface would suffice for the summoning seal. Any type of ink or paint would be accepted, so long as the seal was created correctly. Izaya quickly swiped a slip of paper from his printer and a pen from his desk drawer. Setting the book open on his desk, he began studying the drawing closely, memorizing each oddity and planning out the best way to accurately copy the image.

 

Circles that overlapped, half completed ovals that crossed and intertwined with mock Vs, triangles whose sides looked both pressed and wrinkled, letters from a dead language that were curved, sharpened, jagged.

 

Three attempts created a perfect replica.

 

As instructed, Izaya placed the paper face up on the floor in the most open area of his living room and took a switchblade out of his pocket. A single drop of blood was to hit the seal as he read the chant, and then… Flicking the blade out, Izaya caught the excitement swimming in his eyes from his reflection. He composed himself with a deep breath and began.

 

Reciting the memorized words, Izaya outstretched his left hand over the seal, slid the blade down his palm, and then squeezed.

 

One droplet hit the seal dead center. Then there were three. It was five before Izaya retracted his hand. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I should have known it would be a waste of time.” He wasn’t too surprised, human fairy-tales and legends were often incorrect or flat out wrong. Now, he had an annoying little wound to attend to. The stinging had subsided, but it’d be wise to--

 

The brunet stared at his clean palm in wonder. The skin smooth and the cut gone as if he’d never sliced it open to begin with. If his flesh had magically stitched itself back together, then--

 

His eyes flew back to the paper, his pulse quickened with excitement. The droplets of blood had begun to slowly spread themselves and cover the seal entirely like icing being smoothed atop of a cake. Izaya patiently waited, watching.

 

The now deep red circle glowed brightly… for five seconds.

 

“Ah.” Izaya exhaled flatly. “Demon-sa--”

 

Izaya’s vision swam and body crumpled to the floor with a pained gasp. He had felt _i_ _t_ , _something_ slammed into him from above but nothing physically connecting to his body. Had he been struck over the head by an invisible force? His head hurt. He inhaled sharply, feeling another strike. His head hurt _so much_. The world in front of him was spotted in black, the colors blurred before becoming part of the darkness. Had he closed his eyes? He heaved with a choked gasp as there was another stab. He cradled his head in his hands, unable to lift it with the pressure bearing down on it.

 

_Inside…?_

 

His fingers groped through his hair for any wounds, finding nothing.

 

_Inside of me!?_

 

Izaya felt _it_ at his brain. The sensation of hundreds of icepicks being jammed into his brain from every angle, of millions of needles pricking, poking, and piercing his most important organ. Was this fucking _thing_ trying to lobotomize him?!

 

As unexpectedly as it had begun, it vanished. Izaya recoiled back from his hunched forward crumple, landing harshly on his back and ass and scrambled back, away from the source of his suffering. His heartbeat was frenzied and eyes wild with fear. Was that the end of it? What the hell had he done, what the hell had he allowed to happen to himself?! Why the fuck wasn’t there a warning for _that_ on the stick-on note?!

 

A loud crash of thunder blasted through his apartment. Izaya shrieked from the suddenness. The paper sparked like a wet electrical socket and the blood circle began to bubble, spilling over. The circle of the seal quickly tripled in size. Izaya watched, frozen as a human hand formed itself out of the deep red ooze and rose up.

 

It slapped onto his wooden flooring, the color fading to a sun-kissed pale. It braced itself and began lifting out the rest of the right arm. When what was most definitely a head of hair beginning to form and rise, Izaya took a deep breath. The vicious appearance of blood gave away to a soft mop of hair, the rosy red to a marigold yellow. The informant’s face twisted in disbelief. The angle didn’t matter, he’d recognize that head from anywhere.

 

Shizuo Heiwajima’s face tilted up to address Izaya as it continued to form and lift the rest of its body out of the small puddle. Those eyes, all Izaya could think, are entirely wrong! The should be honey browns now a bright orchid pink.

 

“Izaya Orihara, I am the great demon Dēloun. For what reason have you requested my services?” It spoke evenly, with Shizuo’s Heiwajima’s voice.

 

Izaya huffed out a petulant laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was entirely set-up (and Izaya suffering), I'm afraid. I hope it wasn't too boring and gathered some of your interest.
> 
> As always, comments of any kind are greatly appreciated. Especially criticism or to point out errors, since I'm without a beta reader and doing my own editing. I'll be updating the tags of this fic as I go, if anyone has tag recommendations for making this fic more accessible or to refine the warnings, please let me know in a comment. Thank you for reading.


	2. The Nature of The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya learns that his demon has a unique filter.

The puddle of blood slowly dissipated in a red smoke, leaving only the piece of paper underneath. Used, the seal had entirely vanished, the printer paper as white and as clean as it had originally been. Izaya was now alone with the only sign a summoning had taken place. The unholy doppelganger of the monster of Ikebukuro stood plainly, staring back at Izaya as he assessed the demon.

 

It hadn’t copied Shizuo’s identifying get-up, instead wearing a simple white wool Doric chiton. The informant doubted he could judge the creature’s age by its choice of attire, but the knowledge was mesmerizing all the same. His eyes caught scars on the visible skin, scars he’d seen and made on the blond himself. Every detail seemed _exact_ , from the callouses on the hands to the slight uneven cut on part of the mop of hair from dodging Izaya’s own blade a few days prior. The color of those irises aside, this was the body of Shizuo Heiwajima as Izaya remembered it.

 

Izaya’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the demon. Had this thing plucked through his brain?

 

When the pause from its inquiry became too long, it stepped forward. Leaning down, it extended its hand to the man still on the floor. Izaya locked eyes with the creature and helped himself up. It’s expression remained flat, unperturbed.

 

“Why are you wearing the body of that brute?” He demanded, wanting his suspicions confirmed.

 

Faux Shizuo’s eyes widened, its head titling to the side, and elegantly replied, “ _Hah?_ Is this your first time summoning a demon?”

 

“Consider that a request, if it must be.”

 

It sighed a laugh that bubbled out in to several, its pink eyes lit up and sparkled with exhilaration. A large smile broadcasted itself quickly before diving in to a flat press of lips. “My, how unfortunate for you.” Izaya tried to suffocate the unnerving feeling in his chest by exhaling.

 

“Alright, I’m a pretty cordial guy.” He shrugged, gesturing an offering with his hands. “I guess it’s fine that you didn’t know or piece it together.” Izaya didn’t rise at the insult. “Demons aren’t going to show their real forms when they’re summoned. Humans scream, they panic. It’s inconvenient for getting the job done. It’s far more simple to just pick a form the summoner can comprehend.” That could have been _anything_ , from a burning bush to a cat to _Shinra_. This form was just a cheap manipulation tactic Izaya wanted to sneer at. The demon pointed at Izaya with his index finger and splayed his other hand on his chest. “Like the man you love.”

 

“I do not _love_ that beast.” He rapidly fired back.

 

The demon’s eyes narrowed in an expression of anger Izaya was all too familiar with. “Did you just lie… to _me?_ ” His low voice growled with astonishment. He began stalking closer, prompting Izaya to instinctively pull out a blade to defend himself. What he planned to do with a knife against a demon, even the informant didn’t know. The creature didn’t acknowledge the sharp piece of metal pointed towards their chest.

 

“Did you even _read_ that book?!” Dēloun pointed accusingly to the forgotten grimoire on Izaya’s desk. “It’s still open on _my_ page!”

 

He smirked, casually waving the knife, “I cannot read it.”

 

“ _You--_ ” The demon hissed in to a long exhale, trying to composing himself. Closing his eyes and rubbing his face with his hands, he muttered, “Are you an idiot or just suicidal?”

 

“Are you not an ‘information demon’?” Izaya smiled innocently. “Shouldn’t you know the answer to that, Dēloun-san?”

 

“That’s...” Faux Shizuo regarded him with quiet absurdity. “A really _unusual_ way to summarize me.”

 

Izaya leaned forward, having lowered his blade. “Do tell.”

 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” The brunet shrugged dismissively at the flat response. If the demon knew he was trying to coax free information out of him and still provided it anyway, then no matter. He had already learned so much from the past few moments. He could (unwisely) rile this creature up, that they were concerned about their composure and not being swept up in their emotions, that they hated thinking that they were being lied to, that they don’t bat an eyelash at the threat of bodily harm. Too much like Shizu-chan, Izaya thought distastefully.

 

The demon stared at him contemplatively before re-straightening his posture. From a mere few feet away, sharp pink eyes stared down into Izaya’s own brown ones.

 

“Izaya Orihara, I am the great demon Dēloun. An old summoner once dubbed me ‘The Truth Seeking Demon’. My powers, of which I am able to use to service you should you make a contract or a covenant with me, include but are not limited to finding the answers to questions you truly seek, alerting you when one is lying, and telling you what others know or believe.”

 

The words sat in Izaya’s head. “You can tell me when others are lying?”

 

“I instantaneously know when any being speaks a lie. So, I find lying to me to be a waste of both of our time and extremely _irritating_. As a human, that time must be far more valuable to you than I.” Assuming they were speaking the truth… His and others lies being known were of no real consequence to Izaya. Carefully watching what he and others said was already second nature to the informant.

 

“How do I know for certain that _you_ aren’t lying to me?”

 

“You don’t.” He answered immediately with a slight shake of his head. “You’ll have to go on the word of a demon. Though, you could’ve taken the word of the grimoire. I’m positive it would have also told you that I’m incapable of lying.”

 

“But you’re not incapable of refusing to answer or not telling the whole truth?”

 

The doppelganger snapped his fingers and pointed them at Izaya with a proud smile. “Bingo!”

 

Izaya ignored the obnoxious behavior in favor of assessing what he was told, what he knew, and the current situation at hand. It would be impossible to test the demon and guarantee an accurate result. Playing it by ear was fine. He would have to learn how to send this creature back, if not by their own words then by asking his previous client for a way. Could others see or hear them? Regardless, Izaya couldn’t allow this thing to walk around with Shizuo’s appearance. If Shizu-chan--

 

It was in this moment with that halted thought that Izaya recalled the demon avoiding his question. Their own words strengthening his prior suspicions tenfold.

 

“You _invaded_ my mind.” The gripe on his blade tightened.

 

“Yes,” the quick admittance caused Izaya to falter. “When you summon a demon, you agree to use yourself as both a doorway and a home. We sift through the minds of our summoners. How else would I know your name, which form you’re most comforted by, or what you truly desire?” He leaned closer, tilting his head curiously. “Did you assume I spoke Japanese prior to you summoning me here?”

 

Izaya brought a trembling hand up to hold his head, his breathing quickened. The demon across from him was watching him closely. What else did this thing know about him? What could it tell others? Brown eyes rapidly scanned the air in front of him as if trying to see inside his own skull for fingerprints and clues. “That _pain_. What did… What did you do to me?” His body shook in place. What if it had an ability like Saika? And he had _allowed_ it inside!?

 

Hands gently griped his shoulders, Izaya jolted. His attention snapped back and breathing stilled. Faux Shizuo leaned in close, those incorrect eyes stood out, resolute and sincere, and drew him in. He was beginning to feel floaty, Izaya couldn’t discern if it was from the lack of oxygen or something the other man was doing to him.

 

“I only looked for enough to do my job correctly.” His voice smooth and cradling. “I did nothing more. I understand and accept that you do not believe me. All I can offer you is my word and promise.”

 

Izaya wanted to believe him and, for his sanity, he would.

 

Faux Shizuo smiled as Izaya’s breathing evened.

 

“Izaya,” He whispered. The rich tone was turning Izaya’s legs in to cement. Those pink eyes that stayed glued to his face were hypnotic, he was certain of it. “There are other services I can provide for you as well.” The hands on his shoulders were releasing and rising to cup his face. They were warm, as if blood truly pulsed through their veins. He could feel the roughness on the pads from callouses gained from years of manual labor. Izaya’s eyes widened as Shizuo began to lean in.

 

Izaya’s hand jerked forward instinctively. When his knife met no resistance, his fingers panicked and the blade slipped out of his grasp. It stabbed into the wooden flooring with a soft _thunk_.

 

They both gazed down at the switchblade planted in the floor between the demon’s feet. Its position towards his heels meant that Izaya must’ve dropped it someplace around his spine.

 

“Did you just try to stab me?”

 

“You tried to kiss me.” Izaya retorted.

 

“Is _that_ the reaction one gets for trying to kiss another in this century?” He asked genuinely.

 

Izaya ignored his question entirely. “How do I get rid of you?” His heart was pounding like a drum just from a few minutes alone with this demon. His chest ached from its recent panic and other emotions he cared to not think about. This thing had to _go_. He couldn’t live with it always next to him or behind his back. If it tried something like _that_ again-- Izaya was ready to do anything in his power to send it back to Hell.

 

“You have to agree to a contract for me to fulfill, create a covenant with me, or die.” He very well might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delic has yet to be properly addressed as such yet. That'll be amended next chapter, but since I can say, I'd like to bring up a fun fact. Delic's name comes from the Ancient Greek Dēloun, which means to make visible or to reveal. I've yet to personally see someone take his name origin into account with his character, and, well, I just love Demon AUs. It was the perfect opportunity!
> 
> I really appreciate the feedback I've gotten so far and hope you continue to leave comments. As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine as well.


	3. Cupid's Chokehold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya seals his fate.

This was bad. The demon could touch him freely but couldn’t be touched back, he wouldn’t even be able to defend himself. Izaya took a few steps back to create distance between them again. The action made him feel cowardly, regardless of the fact that it was in his best interest.

 

“I like you.” Dēloun said suddenly. Izaya scrutinized his face for insincerity in vain. The other man smiled at his flushed face. “Create a covenant with me, Izaya.”

 

He doesn’t just want to be assigned a job to finish? “You’d benefit more from a covenant than from a contract.”

 

“Ahuh!” Instant confirmation. “We’d be bound together for-- what, you’re twenty-three? At least another seven to ten years!” Izaya was unsure if the blond didn’t know about the life expectancy range for the modern era or if it was a warning of some sort.

 

When Izaya visibly soured, the other man was urged to continue about his interests. “I haven’t been in the human realm this long in at least over a millennium! Just looking at this place--! Look at how much has changed! I want to see more of _this_!” Pink eyes danced, glowing with excitement, as he gestured wildly at the entire apartment. “What are all these devices?!” Izaya was having difficulty watching that expression of childlike wonder on Shizuo’s face.

 

“What is that thing for?” He pointed accusingly at the microwave. “What does it do? And that odd display for your glass pot!”

 

“The coffeemaker?”

 

“What does it-- Oh.”

 

Dēloun’s gaze bounced around like a ball, Izaya bit his lip at the show in front of him. How dare this creature act so innocent after what it tried to do to him. Could they refuse his requests for a contract if they desired a covenant? If they wanted to experience humanity’s progress, could Izaya pass up on being their tour guide? Recalling the feeling of hot breath so close to his lips, he thought yes. He definitely could.

 

“A contract only covers one request, I presume.” The demon hummed in question, spinning around in place from examining the television from afar and nodding. “So, elaborate on the workings of a covenant.” Izaya’s question snapped him back in to seriousness.

 

“A covenant works similarly to a subscription or bill. You can pay me in advance for my services or I can always reap payment when you’re overdue. Either way, I would be at your call twenty-four seven, my abilities in your hands.” Dēloun splayed his fingers and raised his hands with a shrug. “My powers aren’t transferable, so only figuratively.”

 

“I’m guessing you won’t go away just because I don’t currently need you around?”

 

“Nope!” He cheerfully replied. “But you’ll get a symbol of our covenant with my seal on it if I ever decide to.” So, Izaya would be stuck with this guy for life until he can find a loophole to break it or exorcise him, if that was even a possibility. If he was forced within a certain distance of Izaya at all times, there was at least a chance he might get bored while Izaya worked and disappeared. Izaya would have to find that out next.

 

The demon casually prattled on, “And with a covenant gateway, I won’t have to siphon your energy just to materialize! We both win!”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“Hah?” Faux Shizuo looked at him disinterestedly. “I did say that if you didn’t agree to a contract for me to fulfill or create a covenant with me, you would die.”

 

Izaya’s fingernails bit into his palms, he longed to slip into his coat just to bury his hands in the pockets. “You’ve been stealing my _life_ this entire time?” This _bastard._

 

“People know these things when they read certain _books._ ” The demon replied, obnoxiously popping the word between his lips.

 

“The language then. What’s it written in?” Izaya demanded in a clipped tone, waving one hand towards the open grimoire.

 

The blond obediently walked around Izaya to examine the grimoire. “Looks like Witch. I can’t really imagine anyone else keeping demon tomes.”

 

“This right here,” Dēloun tapped his finger against the largest mass of lettering at the top of the left page, “is my name.” Scribed in the book’s language, it didn’t look very unique or like it belonged to a demon. He plucked the stick-on note off of the page. Flipping it over, he learned that this was how Izaya had actually managed to summon him. Neither an idiot or suicidal, Dēloun thought, definitely just crazy.

 

“Dēloun.” His head sharply turned to face Izaya. The resolve staring back at him from inside of those brown eyes… I _really_ like you, was his single thought.

 

“I’m requesting to form a contract with you. So go on, tell me the rules and limitations you’ve been keeping from me.”

 

The demon smirked and tittered. “Yes, yes.”

 

“There are four things.” He raised his left hand to assist counting with his fingers. “One, I can only work in past and present tense. This means no future requests. You can’t ask me for the day you or another will die, or the next location of a terrorist attack, or if someday Shizu-chan will ever love you.”

 

Izaya grit his teeth, eyes focused and serpentine. Hatred for the creature mocking him seemed to be rising out of him like smoke and thinning the air. Dēloun wanted to applaud.

 

Another finger stood up. “Two, if the information you’re requesting is easily attainable by yourself, then I’m allowed to refuse on the basis of wasting my powers. For example: If you can find the location of the nearby market by simply asking another human, then I’m going to refuse.” His ring finger popped up next. “Three, your desire for said information must be absolute. Self explanatory, no?”

 

“No, it _isn’t._ ” Izaya bit back, exasperated. “How do you measure that?”

 

“Listen, I’m magic. If it isn’t of consequence to you, then it’s of no consequence to me. Energy has to be exchanged for energy. If all of your heart desired to find a lost shoe, I could find it for you. I don’t take on _busywork._ Fourth is that I can’t answer questions like the secret of the universe or whatever nonsense you humans ponder about instead of enjoying your short existences.”

 

Izaya silently mulled.

 

“There’s nothing.” He said suddenly, voice cutting into the air. This bastard had Izaya where they wanted him from the start. The demon had a full deck and was only tossing Izaya enough cards to keep him playing. “There’s nothing I could contract you to find out for me that I couldn’t find myself just as quickly.” His own choice of employment and hobby made him the perfect target. The questions he’d want answers to were immediately voided as well. He’d have to forfeit this hand and go buy his own deck.

 

“I’m requesting a covenant with you, Dēloun.”

 

The demon leaped forward, grabbing and enveloping Izaya’s hands with his own. “Fabulous!”

 

Izaya lamentably watched as pink irises neonized, glowing brightly enough to emit light that painted their cheeks. He tried to pull his hands free, but the hold on them was as strong as he’d expect of that form.

 

Izaya gasped as he felt cloth snake around his throat and lock in place. His hands were let go in that instant and shot up to tug the material away. He couldn’t get his fingers under it to touch his own flesh. It didn’t budge or stretch no matter how hard he pulled, stuck to the skin of his neck like industrial glue.

 

Izaya ran to the nearest mirror. On his reflection was the new adornment. A black silk choker with a simple oval brooch, pure white with the seal inside in black.

 

There was a wolf whistle from at his side. “Looks good on you.”

 

“ _I am not your property!_ ”

 

Dēloun immediately rose his hands up in surrender. “Relax. If you stop messing with it, it’ll disappear on its own. No other mortal can see it, _I_ _promise_.”

 

Izaya inhaled shakily. His hands hesitated, but inched away from the smooth fabric. As he was told, it slowly dematerialized. His fingertips ran along the spot of skin where the brooch had been pressed to test it. Sure enough, rubbing its location brought it back. It was degrading to Izaya nonetheless.

 

“Are rings not the customary form to carry seals?”

 

“When summoners make them themselves prior to summoning, yes.”

 

“Besides,” fingers trails down Izaya’s spine. Hot breath puffed across his ear with a low voice. “ _I like it._ ”

 

Izaya turned to glare through his blush at the other man, taking in the sight of the fiendish smile on Shizuo’s face. Sharply curved lips and grinning eyes, like the tomcat that got the canary and cream. Izaya had to focus on regulating his breathing momentarily.

 

“Dēloun--”

 

“You know, you shouldn’t casually walk around using a demon’s name. It invokes their power.” Izaya’s eyes narrowed at the roundabout way he was being told how things worked.

 

“From now on, just call me Delic.”

 

“Delic?”

 

The blond winked at him. “Because I only stick around the _delicious_ ones.”

 

Izaya’s nose crinkled in disgust, prompting Delic to laugh heartily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Take a look at my boyfriend, he's the only one I got. Not much of a boyfriend, I never seem to get a lot.)
> 
> I wasn't expecting to finish this chapter so soon! I can't seem to stay away from this fic's document on my desktop. Everyone's feedback and comments have been so encouraging! I don't think I can properly word my thanks! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter as well! And, as always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	4. Dumb People Swore They Saw The Devil (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya begins to seek out his previous client.

Izaya made his way to the closet in search of a bag that could fit the grimoire. His first step would have to be towards learning what other information was being kept from him. Reading Delic’s entire chapter for himself would confirm or deny the demon’s own words. If the book contained a passage on ridding him of his new pest, it might be the only thing he’d need. If not, he’d have to look in to exorcisms and purification rituals.

 

Now that his stay in the human realm was cemented, Delic began to explore his fresh environment in depth, starting with the television. He crouched down in front of the wide screen to read the text at the bottom. Learning a new language via picking it off of his summoner meant he understood the words presented to him, but in the context of a device he never had to navigate before, they became muddied. He reasoned and pressed the power button first.

 

The television lit up in bright pastels, the image of two children talking in a sunny garden displayed. Izaya had left the channel on one of the children’s broadcasting networks. Said brunet turned away from the closet when noise came from the television. His lip twitched at the mesmerized expression on the demon’s face. Delic’s fingers began examining the moving pictures, finding the glass screen smooth, free of the bumps and textures a painting held. Finding an appropriate messenger bag, Izaya went to slide the grimoire inside of it.

 

“Do _you_ know where Kitten-chan went?” A small cheery voice pleaded at the viewers from the screen. Delic jerked back up sharply. The picture could see him?!

 

“ _You--!_ ”

 

Izaya sniggered at the threatening glare aimed at the cartoon. “It’s just a program to help small children learn. It doesn’t really see you, Delic.”

 

He walked to the coffee table, picking up the remote and angling it so Delic could see that he was changing the channel. The display swapped to a panel discussing business. Izaya handed the remote over to the blond who frowned immediately, seeing thrice as many buttons for the device than the screen itself had. He mimicked Izaya’s action while the other man went to retrieve the blade stuck in the floor.

 

Delic flipped through several channels displaying news and cartoons until finding something that caught his interest: a channel still showing a housewife’s drama despite it being so late in the afternoon. Delic began watching the entire scene unfold with undivided attention.

 

The man and woman on screen were kissing passionately, finishing what appeared to be a romantic date. After parting, the woman began to cry about something keeping the two of them apart. The man tried consoling her by holding her close and allowing her to cry. When she seemed to have calmed down, he dropped down to his knees and proposed with jewelry and flowery words of promise, this prompting more kissing.

 

Catching bright light flashing from the corner of his eyes, Izaya turned to see Delic ripple with electrical static. His chiton pulling apart and phasing out of existence in the zapping. The electricity was creating and molding new material for his body. With one final encompassing beam, it ceased.

 

“Hey, Izaya!” Delic spun around, extending his arms to better show off his new attire. “How do I look?”

 

Gone was his dated garb, replaced with a brilliantly white suit, complete with a pink and black pinstripe dress shirt and simple black tie. His shirt bore the same shade of bright orchid pink as his eyes, but what made both pop and stand out all the more was the mass of pure white. It struck Izaya then that Delic had absorbed what he must’ve deemed a common state of dress from the television.

 

“Pretty _dreamy_ , right?”

 

Izaya disregarded him, slipping on the messenger bag and going to the rack for his coat.

 

“Where are we going?” The demon zipped from the other side of the room to Izaya’s side in a buzzy flash.

 

“Out.” Delic clapped his hands together in excitement.

 

* * *

 

At six forty-two today, Anri Sonohara decided to do some grocery shopping. It was around this time in Ikebukuro that the young woman saw the man she detested greatly with the man who had once saved her. Neither of the two were fighting, walking beside one another calmly, Izaya leading the way. Shizuo was absent of his usual attire and uncharacteristically seemed to be the one verbally bemoaning something while Izaya remained silent with a narrowed, annoyed gaze. It was an unusual sight in the one of the most unusual cities. She had almost disbelieved her own eyes. They were heading in her direction, their paths would quickly cross.

 

“ _Demon!_ ” Saika’s voice cried out, resonating in Anri’s head.

 

Delic’s head perked up. The pout that had formed once he realized that Izaya was going to entirely ignore his presence outside of their apartment disappeared.

 

“Orihara-san? H-Heiwajima-san?” Anri asked for their attention, gripping the plastic of her grocery bag with determination. If Izaya Orihara had done something to Shizuo Heiwajima, she desired to return his previous kind gesture and assist him.

 

Izaya’s eyes widened, head snapping the young woman he had somehow missed. Focusing his energy on tuning out Delic would result in putting himself in serious danger. She can see Delic, he thought. She did possess and wield Saika. It made logical sense that one bound to a demon could see another’s. Recalling Delic’s previous words, Izaya wondered if this meant Anri Sonohara no longer fit Delic’s definition of a mortal or if it was just Saika’s influence allowing her to see other demons.

 

“I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for another, beautiful.” The blond addressed her politely with a bow. He drew up one of her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. Anri flushed at the action. Izaya had began to gape, his anger not dissipating.

 

“Your demon’s description of me was not incorrect. My name’s Dēloun, but please, call me Delic. That name must be saved for _private_.” Anri’s face turned fiery, embarrassed by everything from the (not so) public display to the tone his voice used to carry his words.

 

“Oh. I’m Anri Sonohara. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stammered, voice uncertain and lightly questioning. Izaya Orihara was being possessed by a demon with Shizuo Heiwajima’s appearance? Should she feel pity for the informant or the demon?

 

“Not as much as it is _mine_ , I’m sure.”

 

“How wonderful to run into you again, Sonohara-san.” Izaya spoke with a sarcastic sneer. “I’m afraid I’m in a hurry though. Keep your demon on a leash now and I’ll do the same with mine, hm?” He spun back around in the direction of his prior client’s place of employment, his gait hasty.

 

“Hopefully I see you around, beautiful.” Delic departed after Izaya with a brief nod and smile for her.

 

Anri stood in place and watched as the blond strode through people like they were air, his voice loud enough for her to hear him over the crowd Izaya disappeared inside of.

 

“Izaya, are you jealous? Is it because I don’t compliment _your_ appearance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few lines from Black Wedding by Meg & Dia I could probably use for chapter titles for this fanfic, and this one does come across as a little insulting, but nothing else I could think of fit quite as succinctly. This became a two-parter due to reaching a good chapter break point. A certain someone was due to make an appearance in my plans, but he'll have to be in part two. Hopefully no one is disappointed by this and enjoyed this chapter regardless.
> 
> I've been appreciating all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	5. Dumb People Swore They Saw The Devil (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya's choker feels more like a noose.

Izaya was ignoring his presence. Likely so as not to stand out in the crowd, Delic reasoned. This meant that Delic would get no answers to the multitude of questions all of the new wonders around him brought up, and that they would pile up for later. He had taken in so much already. Every building seemed to try and contest with the height of mountains, rising higher than Delic had ever seen before. Signs on practically every building of every type from still to moving pictures to flashing tried to sell him something or lure him inside to spend his money within their walls. The sidewalks were bustling with people, some in uniformed dress whilst most others seemed to have their own unique look. The humans had progressed so far! They had tons at their fingertips! Quicker access to food and entertainment, convenience at every corner! So many ways and outlets to express or identify themselves apart from each other!

 

When Izaya paused at a street corner with other pedestrians, Delic couldn’t help but linger over the shoulders of a group of middle school girls giggling at some matching devices in their hands. Wasn’t that called a telephone? But they were chattering on to each other about the still images of some man on their screens? Some naming conventions like eyeliner and lipstick he could logically figure out for himself, but others like this perplexed him.

 

Too soon, Izaya was parting from the herd and bright, busy buildings to tread down an alley. Delic didn’t waste the opportunity.

 

“Izaya, why do they call it a telephone if there’s no sound?”

 

The brunet spared him a bewildered glance before turning the corner and heading towards a door at the end of the alley. The entrance was featureless, baring the simple gray awning and a wooden sign that boasted: Amane’s Special Knickknacks! Delic instantly recognized the aura that poured out of the door when Izaya let himself in.

 

The alcove sized shop’s shelves were lined with odd novelties indeed. One section was devoted to jars; the mass containing suspiciously normal ingredients such as herbs and other assorted plants and their pieces while the remaining few held harvested organs from various small creatures. Its sister section offered baskets of their bones and some of the larger roots. The adjacent wall carried handmade products of differing sizes and styles, what Izaya had correctly labeled as charms his first time. A young man sat at the wooden desk in the back, knelt over a shirt he appeared to be stitching a bizarrely lettered article of cloth into.

 

“I’m looking for Amane-san.”

 

“She’s… _indisposed_ at the moment.” The young man paid him no mind, continuing his project as if the shop had no customer.

 

“Try two rabbit hearts in sauteed hyssop,” he offered after a beat of silence.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Whatever is lingering on you, it might be cured so easily.”

 

Izaya’s eyes narrowed at the blithe dismissal. A demon removed with a simple concoction? Laughable or insulting, depending on if sensing Delic was much harder than someone with Sonohara’s advantage made it seem or if this man had a joke of a magical prowess.

 

“You’re a witch too, right?” He said with a condescending smirk. The other man paused his sewing, needle pierced through the two cloths, to glare at Izaya. The brunet retrieved the tome from his bag, unceremoniously dropping it at the young man’s hands. “I’d like a complete translation of this book.”

 

Izaya watched as the other man’s eyes began to widen to the verge of popping out as he read the cover.

 

“ _This is a demon grimoire!_ ”

 

“As I’ve learned.”

 

He shot up from his seat as if it were on fire and hastily leaned forward. “Have you brought something into this shop with you?!”

 

“Yes, something I’m positive can’t be _cured so easily_.” The witch panicked further at the sneer he was given. He began frantically searching through the desk drawers at Izaya’s affirmation. “You can translate this book, right? Name your price and I’ll double it for urgency.”

 

He seemed to find what he was looking for: a glasses case. The shake in his arm made putting on the glasses a struggle, but once he managed doing so, he froze in place. Izaya knew the fearful stare was aimed at Delic, standing somewhere behind his person. “Same goes for whatever information you have on removing a demon. Exorcisms, purification rit--”

 

“Izaya Orihara.” The demon cut in, voice sturdy and even like sanded wood, instantly commanding Izaya’s attention. It hadn’t struck Izaya how absent Delic seemed to be since coming in the shop. Even while silent, Delic actively poked around his surroundings. Izaya slowly withdrew his hands into his coat pockets. As he turned, he felt the musky atmosphere thin and suffocate.

 

Delic stood still in the center of the shop. Gravity no longer appeared to affect his body, his flaxen hair flowing in the air like he was underwater and open suit jacket and tie lifting up as if he was standing atop a breezy vent. The pink irises had swallowed the entirety of his sclera and pupil, the direction of his piercing gaze no longer discernible. The intensity of the their glow framed by the occasional brush of blond hair reminded Izaya of insects and flowers that advertised their toxic quality. Charges of static crackled and popped around his person, the overflow of energy desperate for an outlet.

 

“If you attempt to sever our covenant in any manner aside from your own suicide, I will kill you.”

 

Though his flat expression and still body gave nothing away, Izaya’s lungs burned as they struggled for deeper breaths of air. From within his pockets, the informant’s hands trembled.

 

“Three to four days.” Came a whisper from the young employee, pressed against the wall behind the desk, as far away from the demon as he could’ve managed. “I-I can have it done in three to four days. Just leave and take _that thing_ with you.”

 

The brunet desired to know if he had heard the threat, if he could hear any noise Delic made, and how exactly Delic appeared through those glasses. Instead of inquiring, he nodded. Izaya trailed through the store, staring ahead at the door as he walked past the creature following with its head, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

 

Outside he gasped, taking in as much of the fresh air as he possibly could. His hand shot up to cover his mouth as he heaved, stomach trying to physically get rid of the despair pitting in his stomach.

 

“I would prefer it if we could be friends and cohabitate, rather than fight each other at every turn.”

 

Izaya spun around at the demon in the alley.

 

“ _Friends?!_ ” His voice rose with his hysteria. “After _everything_ you’ve done to me?! With all the things you’re _forcing_ me into?! You exist with _that face_ solely to mock and torment me!”

 

Izaya had yet to realize that he had started crying.

 

He choked, unable to inhale smoothly, as the demon approached him.

 

“ _No!_ ” Izaya protested as he was backed against the wall. His hands met a warm, solid chest as he tried to push Delic away from him. Strong arms encircled his body and pulled him forward. “ _Stop it!_ ” Izaya weakly tried again.

 

“I can make things better for you, if you’ll let me.” The doppelganger whispered into his ear. The brunet curled in to his chest and sobbed.

 

* * *

 

At seven fifty-eight today, a black motorcycle that whinnied like a horse stopped at a park. Its rider got off, patting the vehicle like a treasured companion before walking off to the benches, seeking out one’s current inhabitant. Celty Sturluson sat next to Shizuo Heiwajima, completely unsure how she should even ask her question.

 

“Hey Celty, how’s it going?” Head tipping over the back of the bench, he smoked quietly and listened to the rapid typing of his friend’s phone.

 

“[I’ve got to ask you a question and it’s going to be _weir_ _d_ , but I have to make sure you’re okay.]” Her phone read. Shizuo sat up from his relaxed slouch. He was touched by his friend’s concern, over what he didn’t know.

 

Celty began typing, pausing momentarily before finishing.

 

“[You weren’t walking around in a white suit with Izaya, right? The guy I saw with him looked exactly like you, but for some reason I felt like I knew it wasn’t you.]”

 

“The hell? _No_.” Shizuo’s eyes looked into the visor of her helmet suspiciously. “You think the bastard’s playing some game with a guy that looks like me?”

 

“[I don’t know, but it was _eerie_ , Shizuo! Something inside of me told me I shouldn’t approach them, so I came to find you. There was a show on just last night about aliens cloning the people they abduct, a man said he met his own clone!!!]” The dullahan shivered in place while remembering the “documentary”.

 

“Alright, thanks.” The blond stood up, taking a final drag and snuffing out the remainder of his cigarette under his shoe. “I’m gonna go find out what that flea’s scheming now and kick his ass. I’ll talk to you later.” Shizuo departed with a short wave over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a bit clunky in places to me, but hopefully that's just writer's perspective. This was meant to come out much sooner, but if you're on the east coast in the US then you probably understand how devastating the recent storm was for some of us. It's unrealistic of me to say I can always update daily, as I had been, but I generally have an idea of how soon I can get my following chapter out. (I had posted chapter four so quickly, AO3 didn't bump me up the list. It was so disheartening!) I hope no one had gotten any false pretenses about my speed. This is probably a good time to mention subscribing or that my (slowly updated) cross-posting tumblr blog is linked in my profile.
> 
> Apologies for the wall of text. I hope you enjoyed this update! I found myself having to stop to ask if I felt good about myself making Izaya cry. (The answer was yes!) Special shoutout to Bad_Romance for drawing such amazing fanart! https://glasyalabolaswrites.tumblr.com/post/158498481844/bad-romance-ships-it-looks-good-on-you-i
> 
> I appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	6. Spoon Fed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya feels as if he’s slowly being poisoned while being fed a sweet delicacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick warning for my readers. I hope I've made my telegraphs so far very clear that this fic is going to breach and dive straight into some mental, emotional, and psychological abuses. As someone that's been an avid horror fan since childhood and dealt with tons of abuses in my own life, I have a horrendous gauge when it comes to what others' can or might be able to handle. While writing, this chapter seemed to show itself as the one where I should speak up and be very clear about it.
> 
> Remember to take care of yourselves and prioritize your health first over fiction. If you use fiction to cope, remember that you can always stop and return when you're in a better place. I wish you all well.

Izaya stayed in the comforting arms of the being that had just threatened his life until he was certain that he had calmed down and collected himself. He remained bowed, looking only downward at himself or forward at Delic’s pinstriped shirt. After his breakdown and with all of the small affectionate gestures Delic was giving him, one of the last things he wanted at the moment was to see the face of the man his love had been unrequited for for so many years.

 

Hands rubbed circles into his back, one occasionally departing to thread through his hair. Izaya wiped away his tears as he focused on regulating his breathing.

 

“You’re even more beautiful when you cry.” Came a murmur from above him.

 

“Stop,” the brunet croaked. “I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“I’m not trying to deceive you; I can’t.” Fingers come to pick his chin up, Izaya manages to swat the hand away in time. “I do find you to be a very gorgeous human.”

 

He covers his mouth, unsure if he was going to heave once more or begin crying again. That voice. That voice is getting to him by itself now.

 

“Anyone else… Can’t you turn in to _anyone_ else?”

 

The fingers come to his face again. This time, Izaya’s hands phased through the other man’s arms. His face is cupped by both hands, forced to look up. Izaya’s tired, red eyes couldn’t help but to gaze back at the face that has never been so softly aimed at him. His throat tightens, wanting to wrench out another sob.

 

“I want to help you fulfill all of your fantasies. If you’ll allow me.”

 

_Why?_

 

_What do you gain from this?_

 

_What’s your game?_

 

“As lovely as you are now, no more of this, hm?” Delic’s thumbs gently wipe the corners of Izaya’s eyes as he hums.

 

Izaya feels as if he’s slowly being poisoned while being fed a sweet delicacy. He’s _pathetic_ , not fighting hard enough, and letting his mouth be stuffed with more and more wine that’s so rich in flavor he can’t taste the cyanide mixed in. The love he let fester like a wound making him all the more easier to pry open and play with. Delic could easily force him to do whatever he wanted, but the demon seemed keen on having him struggle before acquiescing. Giving Izaya the illusion of having a choice and then pulling out the rug he steps on when it’s not the one he desires.

 

Delic’s voice is a viscous honey when he says, “We could have so much fun together.”

 

Izaya feels something sharp slice across his chest, fingers like needles digging into his chest and groping around his most vital organs, but there’s no blood, no mark, no tear in his clothing. The eyes staring into his own are as warm as the hands that cradle his face so tenderly.

 

He’s sick.

 

He wants to vomit.

 

His hands don’t twitch for his switchblade when Delic leans in.

 

The kiss is innocent, the simplest contact of pressing skin. Izaya’s head is released in favor of one hand dipping to hold his neck as the other brings him forward with a light pressure on the small of his back. The black silk of the choker is back, snug against his throat. Izaya’s aware that he’s being treated delicately, like a fragile porcelain doll, and _loathes_ it.

 

Delic doesn’t expect Izaya’s hand to shoot forward and grip his tie, tugging him down roughly. His head twists and his mouth opens, and the blond responds eagerly to the sudden change. Delic forces him backwards and up against the alley wall. The tongue Izaya welcomes doesn’t taste like smoke, tobacco, or even ash. He _hates_ it, and he bites down on the intrusion he invited a moment prior.

 

Delic jerks back with a few steps, a hand reaching up to inspect his mouth. The deep imprints of Izaya’s teeth on his tongue have healed instantly, but he still _bled_.

 

Izaya spits out what he’s collected of the demon’s blood onto the cement, licking the remainder from his lips, refusing to break eye contact all the while. Those pink eyes glow back at him, indiscernible if they’re swirling with absolute delight, shock, excitement, animosity, or a mix of them. Delic smiles broadly, the red of his blood spotting his lips, and Izaya still can’t read the emotion displayed, the man unnerving him all the more so.

 

“We’re going home now, Delic.” Calling his apartment the demon’s home is more distasteful than the sickly sweet copper still lingering in his mouth. Izaya inhales deeply to help clear his head, his hand rising to caress his neck to make sure the only visual indicator of their bond is gone, before turning down the alley back to the main street.

 

“Anything you wanna do, _gorgeous_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out shorter than I usually like to put chapters out, but it felt more than fitting to let it be its own thing. I hope you don't mind!
> 
> I've appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	7. Odaxelagnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya gets room to breathe before the smoke rolls in.

The tension lightens on their walk home. Delic’s gaze is no longer hyper-fixated on Izaya. The lack of feeling those eyes on his back gives the brunet some relief, as minor as it may be. Izaya figures as long as there are plenty of other people around or some fascinating modern wonder to occupy Delic’s attention, he’ll have some breathing room to think. Perhaps he’ll pick up some field work, or just forgo work entirely for the next few days and wander around Tokyo. It’s probably pointless, he realizes. He’ll have to go home eventually for things such as sleep. If the demon doesn’t need or want to sleep, will they keep him up all night? Or, worst case scenario, watch him as he sleeps. Maybe teaching Delic how to operate a computer and giving him one of his burner laptops will be enough for when he has to be home.

 

Izaya licks his lips absentmindedly, the foul taste of blood still lingers in his mouth. Once at home, he’ll rinse his mouth and make tea, he decides, and a bath hot enough to cleanse off all of the fingertips on his skin is just what he needs.

 

Izaya had actually managed to hurt the demon. Was it because Delic had allowed it to happen to screw with him or because he was already so close, physically manifesting to impose on Izaya. The damage hadn’t mattered at all to the creature, why had he even bothered to let the knife from Izaya’s stabbing attempt go through him rather than connect with his flesh, if the damage repaired itself instantly? No, the latter just didn’t make sense. Delic was touching him the first time he tried kissing Izaya as well.

 

Izaya was left with the obvious option that Delic was trying to manipulate him again. Was he being provoked to do more damage? If so, why? It clearly did nothing to the demon but get him to back off momentarily. Delic may wear Shizuo’s face, but Izaya has no guarantee what Delic might do if hurt again compared to Shizuo’s constant physical retaliations. He couldn’t tell what that expression in response meant at all, even going back on what he can read of the bodyguard.

 

Izaya turns his head down to let his bangs hide his contemptuous glare, his arms shake and nails bite into his palms. This thing was always just playing with him for their amusement!

 

In his moment of anger, he misses another equally peeved person approaching. Luckily for him, they’re not as quiet about it.

 

“There you are, _I-za-ya!_ ”

 

The informant’s body freezes, his blanking face snapping up as Shizuo crosses the street. His hand catches a parking meter as he leisurely strolls, causally ripping it out of its post like an umbrella from a bin.

 

Izaya’s mind rears up as his stomach drops. Behind him, Delic makes an excited whistle. “This guy really _is_ something.”

 

Hearing Delic’s interest in the other man spikes Izaya’s adrenaline more than the prospect of a fight and chase. He doesn’t have much more energy for their song and dance. He doesn’t know enough, can’t guarantee enough to let Shizuo unknowingly throw himself into the mix. The potential risks are too damn high.

 

“Ah, what an unpleasant surprise, Shizu-chan.” Izaya fixes his expression in to one of perturbed neutrality. “What’s gotten the monster out of his den this time?”

 

There’s suddenly a burst of yellow through half of his vision, and it takes Izaya a second to realize that Delic’s walked right through him. His momentary shock must’ve not shown, or Shizuo just didn’t care.

 

“What’s your game this time, hah? Gettin’ some guy that looks like me to walk around with you.”

 

Delic stops next to Shizuo. “Oh!” His right hand presses over his heart, as if touched. “He means me!”

 

Izaya can’t take a chance by looking at the doppelganger, keeping his eyes met with Shizuo’s fierce ones.

 

“I’ve gotten no such man, Shizu-chan.”

 

“You callin’ Celty a liar?” The metal in his hand groans with pressure as his hand clenches.

 

The brunet’s eyes widen slightly. The dullahan! If she could see the demon, she’d be able to interact with him just as Sonohara had. Izaya couldn’t risk any sort of assistance from the young woman with Saika without putting himself in major danger. But the courier, would her assistance even be worth considering, much less pursuing? Baring death, his worst case with her would be Delic whispering all of his secrets to her to pass on to Shizuo.

 

“Shizu-chan should learn to listen better. I never said that she was lying.” Shizuo’s glare grows stronger.

 

“Alright, I got time. I’ll fuckin’ bite.”

 

“ _Oh_ , I _bet_ you do.” Delic leans forward, using Shizuo’s shoulder as an arm rest to prop up his head.

 

The demon’s gaze has been on the blond intently since his loud arrival. Izaya’s heart thuds in his chest, pumping anxiety through his system more than blood. His biggest fear at the moment is for Shizuo to drop in the middle of the street and clutch his head. The way Delic’s expression is so contemplative, Izaya’s certain the demon knows how easily he’d be pulled apart with the bodyguard’s own thoughts on him. As open about what he thinks of Izaya as Shizuo is, the simple trade of that hateful filter for the loving one Delic uses to manipulate him with would create a unique sting.

 

“What _is_ going on then?”

 

Izaya weighs his options with what he thinks might get Shizuo to leave the quickest, and finds delight.

 

“I’ve found myself cursed,” he starts, spreading his arms wide and open. “I’m being followed around and tormented by a demon that wears your face to mock me.”

 

Delic’s head jolts in Izaya’s direction, surprise harshly evident. Oh, how Izaya wants to laugh!

 

In conjunction, Shizuo’s head reels back, eyes squinting and lip curling up in confusion at the sudden absurd statement.

 

“What kinda nonsense are you trying to sell me?”

 

“Oh, _that’s_ nonsense, but Shizu-chan’s strength, his headless friend, and the Slasher are surely sensible?”

 

Shit, Shizuo had to give Izaya that at least.

 

“Shizu-chan is free to call the courier over to confirm _it_.” Izaya gestures a hand at Delic.

 

The bodyguard turns to glance at the dead air. Has the flea fallen off of his rocker? It’s never been very stable to begin with. But then, Celty… This is a pretty outlandish lie, if that’s really the story Izaya’s sticking with. Izaya seems to have stuffed some of his theatrics away, not chattering on and on and on and instead using fairly clipped sentences. Shizuo finds himself actually wanting to believe the bastard. If Izaya’s lying like always, he can still kick his ass, right?

 

“Alright. Hold on.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The parking meter clangs on to the road, dropped in favor of retrieving his cellphone. Izaya watches dumbfoundedly as Shizuo texts.

 

Izaya heaves an exasperated sigh, walking past the two blonds towards his apartment building.

 

“Oi, where the fuck do you think you’re going?!”

 

“To make some tea and have a bath. It’s not as if Shizu-chan doesn’t know my apartment number and can’t let himself in. Or maybe he’s a dim dog that will smack himself into the door until I answer his barks. Either way is fine, really.”

 

Shizuo glares, but lets Izaya pass anyway as his phone vibrates.

 

As he enters the building, a head tilts towards his ear.

 

“My, that was cute.” Delic’s flat tone sets off warning bells in Izaya’s head. “Telling lover-boy the truth as an act to protect him, I mean, of course. Let me in on your way of thinking, Izaya, there was no way you could’ve anticipated him _believing_ you.”

 

Izaya calls the elevator, turning to glare at the man inches from his face. From the sidewalk, Shizuo watches Izaya address the air.

 

“It didn’t matter if he did or not.” He says with a smile sharp and fine enough to cut like a sashimi knife. Delic leans in closer, as if removing distance will reveal more of Izaya’s intentions.

 

“Careful,” the informant purrs. “You don’t even have to bet that I bite.”

 

The demon rolls a deep laugh at the kittenish threat.

 

“Sweetheart,” Delic breathes directly into Izaya’s ear, “I _love_ that about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost got sat on a little bit due to titling issues. Really, I'm usually more mindful of them or they figure themselves out naturally for me. It was also this chapter that I realized how much fun it is to write characters that are constantly insinuating things to one another and having them figure out true intentions with or after the audience.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! (I've been so lucky with you all and been given such detailed comments that are also so curious and encouraging! I'd be a liar if I said I don't reread them for motivation.) As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	8. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo and Celty involve themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was technically TAT's turn to be updated, but whoops? (This and that fic have a lot of similar readers, talk about characterization whiplash with Delic!)

Shizuo leans against the brick of Izaya’s apartment building and has a smoke while waiting for Celty’s arrival. His eyes are narrowed in annoyance, focused on the cement of the sidewalk, gazing in it’s direction rather than at it. He had expected to show up, Izaya to spill some drivel that wouldn’t answer his question, and then for the two of them to fight and run around. What he had gotten instead was…

 

 _Flea’s actin’ weird_ , Shizuo thinks, _and that’s sayin’ something._

 

Izaya has his own pattern of behavior, despite what others might claim in favor of his unpredictability, and it was one Shizuo had learnt over the years. When deviation occurred, it usually meant that the parasite was up to no good, but this wasn’t the typical stray from the norm he’d see. Instead of squeezing a bottle of lighter fluid on a fire, it was like Izaya had run from a lit match.

 

Shooter’s whinnies approach quick enough, and he pushes off of the wall to meet Celty at the curb.

 

“[Are you okay? You look… Pensive.]”

 

The blond exhales a long stream of smoke. “Something’s wrong with Izaya.” Celty’s helmet tips to the side, urging him to go on. “You know how he never shuts the hell up and keeps blabbering on to mess with you, to make sure you don’t have enough time to see through the diarrhea he’s spewing?” Celty nods. “He didn’t do that today; and it wasn’t like he looked up to something he didn’t wanna spoil the surprise of either. He just looked…” Shizuo looks back at the cement, recalling the way Izaya’s eyes had looked. He could’ve sworn they were vaguely puffy. “Tired.”

 

His headless friend re-situates herself on the bike and he decides to sit next to her on it, allowing himself to rest and making it easier for them to converse.

 

“[Did you find out about the man he was with?]”

 

“That’s why I asked for your help. Bastard’s story is that it’s a demon.”

 

“[Did you see it?]”

 

“No, Izaya claimed it was next to me too. He talked to the air and everythin’, Celty.” Shizuo releases a puff, tapping away some ash. “Normally, I’d think the flea’s probably got one of those disorders and needs to get himself some help, but you said you saw it. Izaya said you could confirm it, he implied that you could see it while I couldn’t.”

 

The dullahan remembers what she saw and what she felt. Despite the image being that of her friend, her gut had vehemently denied the information and demanded that she kept distance from the look-a-like. Saika was a demonic force contained in an object. If a demon wasn’t contained and attached to a single person, it would make logical sense that only the possessed could see it. But Celty wasn’t a human with their limitations like Shizuo was.

 

Celty’s body heaves with a sigh. “[Alright, but I can’t believe _you’re_ going along with what _Izaya’s_ told you.]”

 

Shizuo rises with a shrug. “If he’s wastin’ our time, I’ll just hit him twice as hard.”

 

She wants to rebut with how he’s always trying to hit him hard, but decides against it.

 

The blond disposes of his cigarette stub as they walk in, hearing the snap of Celty’s phone keyboard opening again. Her hand touches his shoulder as he calls the elevator. The black letters are bold against the yellow notepaper background, “[I believe him too.]”

 

“[Shizuo, I thought if I got closer I’d be in danger.]”

 

Shizuo won’t ask if she wants to back out now, if she wanted to she would have said so. She means it as a warning for him.

 

“Izaya said it was tormenting him,” he says lowly.

 

“[How bad did he look?]” When the blond presses his lips together and stares harshly at the elevator doors in front of them, Celty figures awful enough.

 

* * *

 

Shizuo turns the handle to Izaya’s apartment, finding it unlocked. He glances at Celty before opening the door.

 

In the spacious living room, the blond’s eyes instantly dart to Izaya on the couch, cradling a cup of steaming tea. The dullahan, however, is drawn to the skewed copy of the bodyguard sitting next to the informant, their arm draped over the back of the couch where Izaya leans back. They’re sat intimately close together, thighs pressing.

 

Celty’s never seen Izaya look so dulled. Even on Shinra’s doorstep with a gaping wound, she’s never seen Izaya absent so much of his sharp quality. His eyes carry the strain of an earlier crying session and his posture is stiff despite the weary droop in his shoulders. At their arrival, she notices him try to put himself back together to the best of his abilities, but the duo have already seen the damage.

 

“You see him too, don’t you, courier?” He addresses her indifferently before taking a sip of his drink.

 

When the helmet nods, the demon beside him raises their hand in a pleasant wave.

 

“Hello!” He chirps. “Name’s Dēloun. Please call me Delic, though.”

 

Izaya heaves a sigh at his tormentor’s happy appearance. He was actually smiling as if the dullahan was a potential friend prospect.

 

“Does it really look like me?” Shizuo asks evenly. Celty nods at him, cueing a frown. “[Aside from the eye color and clothes, it’s you. Even the voice is right.]”

 

She walks to the couch so Delic can read her phone. How could she describe the sensation she’s feeling? Since stepping inside of the apartment, the air around her felt stilted, out of place, like she was encroaching on another creature’s territory. It was neither wholly accepting of her presence or pressuring her to leave hastily. She felt noticed, watched, by the air itself. Stepping even closer to the source, into the thick of the aura it permeated, she wondered if the demon that had cheerfully greeted her exuded this consciously or not.

 

“[Why do you look like Shizuo Heiwajima?]”

 

Delic blinks at the phone held out towards him and responds calmly, “For Izaya Orihara.” Said man scoffs.

 

“Listen carefully to whatever it says and think about what it’s not saying, Celty-san. Don’t allow it to play mind games with you.” Izaya cautions her.

 

Shizuo snorts, taking a seat in the arm chair across from the trio. He mumbles, “Sounds like someone I unfortunately know.” He can’t hear it or see it. He’s going to be stuck listening to one-sided conversations and he knows it’ll just piss him off, but there’s nothing else he can do. So, the blond lights another cigarette in a futile hope it’ll help.

 

“You make me seem so conniving and malicious, Izaya.” Delic coos, as if actually hurt by his warning.

 

“You’re not implying or saying that you’re not.”

 

He leans in towards Izaya’s ear, Celty catches the way his pink eyes glint. “Does that make you feel accomplished?” Izaya shifts away from him, but it doesn’t do anything to detach Delic from himself. The blond reminds her of a leech, latching on and sucking their prey dry. With how exhausted Izaya appears, she bets he is.

 

“[Why are you here, possessing Izaya?]”

 

“Huh? He summoned me, of course.”

 

Celty almost drops her phone at the casual statement. Shizuo straightens in his seat, watching Celty suddenly fumble from shock. “O-Oi, what’s it saying? Is it doing something?”

 

Her fingers press against the keys in a violent flurry before practically shoving the device against Izaya’s face. “[You idiot! Why would you summon a demon?!]”

 

“Ah, I was curious.” Celty’s helmet falls to the floor from the rush of smoke gushing from her neck.

 

“Celty!”

 

_Tap tap tap._

 

“[Shizuo, he brought this upon himself!]”

 

“Doesn’t he always?”

 

“[No, I mean _he_ brought that thing here!]”

 

“ _What?_ ” Shizuo’s gaze twists with fury as it snaps to Izaya. “What if it went after someone else?!”

 

“It wants me.” The brunet looks back at him solemnly, and Shizuo finds his anger melting into perplexity. His narrowed brown eyes scrutinizing every aspect of the expression open in front of him.

 

“ _Why?_ ” Izaya frowns, squeezing the cup warming his hands. Beside him, Delic swallows amused laughter, his voice digging an octave deeper and burying in Izaya’s ear like a parasite.

 

“It’s almost as if _he’s worried about you!_ ” Fingers grasp Izaya’s chin, the nails pinching his skin, forcing his face to turn towards the demon. He doesn’t notice the squeezing hold, instead feeling the hollowness of his chest, something barbed roping around and prickling his heart. “I wish you could see your expression right now, Izaya! It’s _so cute!_ ”

 

“Aw~, don’t worry.” Delic sings like a lullaby. “I’ll make it better for you.”

 

Izaya’s cup of tea shatters on the ground, spilling the remainder across the floor and furniture.

 

Izaya tries to claw at the blond’s chest as he’s kissed, his fingers slipping through with ease. He’s humiliated; on display as a free show. He can’t give in so easily with a captivated audience watching. Izaya’s hands gain purchase on Delic’s shoulders, able to grasp and dig his nails in, but he might as well be pushing against a solid stone mountain.

 

Celty’s phone clatters to the solid floor loudly. Shizuo breathes out, “ _What the hell’s happening?_ ”

 

Izaya’s back meets the couch cushion, his face still locked in place between two hands. The lips on his are soft despite the pressure. He’s certain he’s going to begin crying again, adding to his crippling embarrassment. His brittle heart doesn’t need much more than a sharp poke to cause it to crumble, but this. This feels like a lashing.

 

Something tightly grips the back of his shirt collar and he’s suddenly yanked, tailbone and ass meeting the wooden floor painfully. “ _Will someone tell me what the fuck just happened?!_ ”

 

“Shi-Shizu-chan?” Izaya gasps out as the other man releases the collar cutting into his throat. His hand rubs his neck soothingly, triggering the choker to re-materialize.

 

On the couch, posed on all fours, the demon runs his tongue over his lips slowly and savoringly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing the second half of this chapter, my depression started flaring up and I feared the worst, but I believe I salvaged it. I hope no one notices a drop in quality or any of the like and enjoyed this update!
> 
> Someone else asked in the comments if this was main/endgame Shizaya or Delizaya. I've already answered it from someone else, but the short form answer is: who knows! I have my own preferences but I don't write with them in mind, preferring to focus on what flows best with the story as it rolls out. (Unless it's porn.)
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	9. The Rule of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya's sanity is toyed with.

Delic languidly stretches on the couch like a satisfied cat. His rear rises as his back curves, arms straightening out fully before hedonistically laying himself out on the furniture. He props his chin up with his hand, watching the man that just ripped his toy away before he was finished playing with it like a television show he happened across while channel surfing. Was he annoyed by the turn of events? Was he stuffing away his anger at being interrupted? Was he even sure of what he felt? Delic couldn’t recall the last time a mere human stepped in his way. Witches knew the pushable lines from the impassable ones, there were a rare few that _dared_. Should he be so exhilarated right now? Was his high from the kiss or from all of the directions he could jerk his puppet now? _Am I thinking as myself_ , the demon pondered.

 

“My, I’m so curious now.” Delic’s murmur to himself captured Izaya’s attention. The brunet rose from the floor, unconsciously leaning back towards the bodyguard.

 

Shizuo looked down at the miniscule space between the two of them. “Oi. You wanna key me in here?”

 

“Shizu-chan just saved me from an attack.” Izaya turned one ear towards him. “Thank you...”

 

Shizuo looked at the back of Izaya’s head oddly, unsure of how to respond to being _thanked_ by _Izaya_. “No problem...?”

 

 _What kind of attack was that, though?_ From what Shizuo could see, he only had a few guesses. He had seen the indents of fingers gripping and pressing against Izaya’s face, holding him where it wanted him. _What kinda demon attacks you by grabbing your face like that?_ It had looked like the brunet failed at shoving it away and then managed to hold its shoulders. It hadn’t tried to eat his face, there was no blood or marks. Not even bruises from where it had touched him. Celty had froze in shock, she didn’t jump in immediately to help Izaya. If it was just violent, Shizuo presumed Celty would’ve drawn her scythe. If physical harm wasn’t its goal, then…

 

“’Saved’ you?” Delic chuckled tenebrously. “You’d make quite the pretty damsel, Izaya.” Said man glared back with fire.

 

Celty retrieved her phone from the floor, ignoring where her helmet had fallen. The demon didn’t seem to care about her presence at all, even politely answering her earlier questions. Even if it was obtuse or roundabout with its answers, it was still giving her something to work with. The question on her mind made her feel a bit awkward. No matter what answer she was going to be given, something wouldn’t make sense.

 

Delic pursed his lips when the phone was bent towards his face. His mouth split, laughter peaking uproariously.

 

“[Are you one of those sexual demons?]”

 

“ _No_ , no. Do you mean an incubi or succubi, Miss Dullahan?” His voice wavered with giggles. “This form has male genitalia, you know? Those types of demons are boringly heterosexual and _dull_. They don’t have much of a thought process beyond that of a starving dog either.”

 

 _So, what does that mean?_ If the demon wanted to torment Izaya mentally and emotionally, of all the people Izaya knows, why did it choose Shizuo? There was one of his sisters, one of his parents, Shinra, or even Izaya’s own appearance, surely others would’ve whittled him down easier? The creature had looked sated from that kiss to her. Did it still feed sexually? If it just required contact, it would’ve only had to hold him down. _Why Shizuo?_ Celty poised her curled hand up as if she had a chin to press it against.

 

“What kind of strange questions are you asking it, Courier?”

 

“She was under the impression that I’m eating your sexual energy.” The blond chokes back an amused snort. “Though my offer to fulfill fantasies still stands, of course, but I’m no rapist, Izaya. I’m going to require explicit consent.”

 

“You just _assaulted_ me.” Izaya bitterly abased.

 

Delic cocked his head in sincere confusion, “I did not hit you.”

 

The brunet grit his teeth, eyes flickering in Shizuo’s direction. He couldn’t argue semantics with it without Shizuo piecing things together.

 

Delic’s expression blinks into one of a kittenish nature. “Oh my, you are a bit of masochist though, right?”

 

Celty suddenly jolts, her shoulders jerking with the motion one would make when whipping their head left and right. From Izaya standing bizarrely close to the man that yells about things such as ringing his neck regularly as if he was providing safety, to the demon wearing the same face with flirtatiously inviting eyes. Erika Karisawa’s excited face pops into her mind. _No, I don’t believe it!_

 

Left out of the loop, Shizuo makes an aggravated growl. This was _annoying_ , both of them were just ignoring him and Celty was freaking out over something again.

 

“Would you look at that.” Delic grins with glee. “She figured it out on her own. I didn’t even _have_ to talk about how _pathetic_ your schoolboy crush is, Izaya. It’s almost a pity.”

 

Izaya’s fists clench, his nails biting into his palm. _You just wanted to hold_ _on to_ _that_ _card_ _a bit longer._

 

“Celty-san.” His arms tremble, eyes open and weary with fear and trepidation. His most protected secret is out and no longer something outlandish people like Shinra and Karisawa allude to or chatter on about only to be taken as a joke by others. Celty looks at him and realizes he’s indirectly begging her to keep it to herself. To keep it from _Shizuo_.

 

She approaches him slowly, tapping the keys on her device. “[Do you think if you told him, it’d have less power over you?]”

 

“...It still has my life.”

 

“[Is that what that thing around your neck is meant to indicate?]”

 

Izaya’s hand begins to rise to his neck in the same moment Shizuo decides that he’s even _more_ annoyed and confused from reading over Izaya’s shoulder and opens his mouth to yell at the two for treating him like part of the décor when there’s suddenly a flash of electrical static. Izaya’s wrist is gripped, halted from triggering the humiliating accessory to disappear, and he startles backwards, pushing into one blond to get away from another in his face.

 

“O-Oi!” Shizuo holds Izaya’s shoulders as he tries to back up, realizing that if he tries any further then they’ll knock into furniture.

 

“C’mon, Izaya. I _like_ it on you. It contrasts and brings attention to your delicious milky complexion.” His voice purrs, vibrating into Izaya’s ears.

 

“ _Let me go, Delic._ ” The brunet stares at the other man, stern and demanding. His heartbeat was growing frantic from the shock of the man swiftly looming over him and, loath as he is to admit it, the compliment. The bones of his ribcage ache from the constant panic and the furious beating from his heart.

 

Delic lifts Izaya’s hand, pressing a kiss to the pulse point before releasing him. The callouses on his fingers caressing the smooth skin as they draw away. Izaya’s skin tingles as he retracts his arm, reaching back and tightly grasping the first thing he touches: the fabric of Shizuo’s clothes.

 

Shizuo opens his mouth to complain, snapping shut as the smaller man keeps trying to back into him. He feels the tremble as Izaya seems desperate to disappear inside of him.

 

“Izaya,” both blonds say simultaneously, tones drastically different. The informant heard worry and invite and hesitation and implication and comfort and danger and, _god_ , his mind _sw_ _i_ _m_ _s_. Phantom pricks itch the inside of his skull and the damp air he swallows down is rank with the cloying scent of spiked liquor.

 

“ _Izaya._ ”

 

He shakes his head, “I’m already allowing you to stay, what more do you _want_ from me?”

 

“ _Izaya._ ” He hiccups a choked sob. There are more voices now, he swears there are. A cacophonous chorus of his own name being called. Izaya covers both of his ears with his hands as he crouches down on to the floor, failing to muffle the noise as they continue without change. He could no longer hear the sound of keys being tapped hastily or legs knocking chairs over.

 

“ _Izaya._ ” A hand, open in offering, was growing closer towards him, beckoning him. His eyes followed the limb up, wet eyes growing wider with terror. The brunet watched, aghast, as the cherry blossom pink of the demon’s eyes bleed over the white and black and bloom a strong glow.

 

“ _Izaya, I lo--_ ”

 

“ _No!_ ” He cried, voice high with hysteria. “ _Anything you want!_ ”

 

“ _Izaya, I love y--_ ”

 

“ _Please!_ _Tell me what you want!_ ”

 

A single silky voice cuts through the thousands, silencing them all instantaneously. “ _Come here, Izaya. I’ll make it better._ _I promise._ ” Izaya listens to his own ragged breathing in the deafening quiet as he stares at the open palm in front of him with blurry eyes. _It promised?_ His hand shakes like a dying leaf, hesitating in its creep forward. When his cold, sweating skin meets with dry warmth, he’s lifted up like a weightless doll.

 

Too far gone in whatever was being weaved around him, Izaya didn’t notice the hand that tried to grab his shoulder. Nor the yell of his name or loud curse as said hand recoiled with an angry snapping of sparks that charged off of the informant.

 

“ _Fuck!_ What’s it fucking doing to him?!” If Shizuo couldn’t touch Izaya, then he couldn’t even _try_ shaking him out of it. He hadn’t gotten a good look at his eyes, but Shizuo’s never heard Izaya’s voice _crack_ before.

 

The dullahan backed up, almost pressed against the wall. Whatever that had been watchfully drifting around the air had begun to swirl furiously and the room began to feel like a tea kettle about to scream for reprieve from the heat. She had her suspicions that the demon was feeding off of Izaya in some manner. Saika thrived off of love. If Delic thrived off of heartbreak, it wouldn’t want for another. It would want to string Izaya up to pluck him apart as much as possible. It displayed more capability than the demonic sword, so what did it _want_?

 

“Once more, okay?” A gentle voice lulled Izaya, wrapping his senses up like a tot in a blanket fresh from the dryer. He nodded dazedly with a sniffle. A hand caressed his face, fingers carefully wiping away the streaks of tears. “You’re gorgeous like this.” His heart beat faintly, ready to collapse in on itself. A hand was placed against the small of Izaya’s back, holding his body flush against Delic’s. His legs felt weak, he was already being urged to submit to the other man, so he allowed his arms to loop around the other’s neck.

 

“Izaya,” his name was called softly as his head was tilted. “I love you.” His eyes widened, newborn tears rolled down his cheeks as his face was brought forward for a kiss.

 

Outside, thunder roared and lightning crashed from the clear skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops? (Oh dear, do I even have anything to say in my notes?) I've been hinting at Delic's real game since the beginning, and, well, it's quite obvious now. I suppose for those of you that have been asking when Shizuo will see Delic, most likely next chapter.
> 
> Some very minor apologies for this taking so long. I've been in the process of moving out of my abusive home into a place where I can hopefully gear towards recovery and getting better.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	10. Big and Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm rolls in.

Inside of the apartment of Izaya Orihara, lightning crashed down from the ceiling in furious and precise strikes. Thunder rolled and roared, blasting over any other sounds with a loud booming. Shizuo and Celty were forced against a wall, as far away from the epicenter of the contained storm as possible. A bright beam of golden light struck where Izaya had been pulled to, illuminating him with the harsh spotlight.

 

Neither could hear what the informant was attempting to murmur to the demon. His body drooped with exhaustion, leaning on the creature for support to remain upright. The beam encompassing the two flashed in quick succession. Izaya’s socked feet began to slip, struggling to plant, as his head required Delic’s shoulder to remain upright.

 

“I’ve got you, beautiful.” Delic’s soothing whisper cut through the clouds in his mind. Izaya felt himself being shifted in the blond’s arms, scooped up in to a bridal-style cradle. Gazing up, Izaya saw the blond’s hair haloed by the light. “Sleep it off, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.” Sleep sounded _perfect_ , he was so _tired_. His mind fried and stressed to oblivion, he had disregarded any sense of the danger he was potentially in. Izaya managed an agreeable hum, head falling against the other man’s chest as his eyes closed.

 

The ray intensifies in brightness, sparks shooting off where it manifests from the ceiling and hits the flooring. Shizuo grits his teeth, forced to tear his eyes away and shield them from possible blindness. Izaya’s sudden breakdown was chilling to the blond. The demon was messing with his mind and all Shizuo could do was _watch_. It looked like Izaya had finally passed out, but the thing still had him. It had done whatever it had prior again, this time with Izaya far too weak and mind far too warped to put up a struggle.

 

The lightning triples its effort, cracking like whips around the living room. Celty rears back, pressing harder against the wall, as a jolt comes a bit too close to her. Electrical static bleeds off of the eye of the storm in sharp snaps. It suddenly bursts, a wave of light and sparks spreading through the open room like a guillotine. The silence that follows the blast is deafening and distressing.

 

Shizuo blinks to adjust as the room dims, lowering his arm from his face. In the center of the room is himself, cradling a limp, sleeping Izaya in his arms. The clothes are wrong and the color of his eyes are wrong, but it’s _himself_. Disturbed far more by the reality now crashing down, he whispers. “Celty, I can see it.” _That’s really fucking bad, right?!_

 

The dullahan nods. It had taken more from Izaya and had gotten _stronger_. She could feel the demon’s aura radiating off of them like heat from the sun. Were she human, she would fear being burnt. Could Shizuo not feel that? Was it just her? He could see the demon now, would others? Why would it potentially risk Izaya’s life just for Shizuo to be able to see it, that made no sense. With what it took, others had to be able to see it now too. No, she had no way of knowing how much energy it had gotten from Izaya aside from that display of power and the informant passing out. But it was _so much_ , maybe that meant--

 

Celty types out her message, having to hit Shizuo’s shoulder with her phone to drag his eyes away from the two in front of them. “[Shizuo, I think it’s got a physical form now.]”

 

“ _Shit._ ” The sound of footsteps brings his attention back. “ _Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!_ ”

 

“To put Izaya to bed,” Delic tosses over his shoulder calmly. “He’s earned a rest, don’t you think?”

 

Shizuo shares a confused, suspicious glance with Celty before charging up the stairs after the duo. She frets as she chases, worried for the safety of her friend. Getting to the bedroom door in time, the wood slams in his face. “ _You bastard!_ ” He grasps the knob, expecting to feel the metal bend under the stress of his hand, and recoils with a shock. “ _Fuck!_ ” Celty tries for his attention with a message, but Shizuo’s too preoccupied in his anger, growling at the door. “If you think I give _two damns_ about Izaya’s property…!” He readies his shoulder to slam through the wood. Upon connecting, sparks fissure from the door, zapping Shizuo and knocking him back into the railing overlooking the living room. It molds to cradle him with his weight instead of snapping and sending him to the bottom floor, surprisingly sturdy despite the thin design.

 

“[Are you alright?]”

 

“Yeah,” he groans, more upset that he couldn’t make it past the electrical currents to break into the bedroom. “Izaya’s still stuck alone with that creepy look-a-like.”

 

“I hate him, and even if he brought it on himself, he doesn’t really deserve _this_. No one does. And it’s fucking with his head with _my_ face. It makes me feel partially responsible, Celty.” Celty kneels down to touch his shoulder soothingly. Shizuo runs a hand through his hair as he exhales. He murmurs, “Why the fuck’s it gotta be me, huh?”

 

Shizuo glares at the door in front of them before turning to his friend with a stern, demanding expression. He knew he wasn’t the brightest, but he wasn’t the dimmest. Even only catching half of the scenes was enough to piece some of what was going on in front of him together. “That demon… It was kissing him, wasn’t it?”

 

When Celty solemnly nods, he breathes out, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

* * *

 

Within the bedroom, Delic’s pulled the bed covers down. He gently lowers Izaya to the bed before tucking the man in. The brunet fidgets uncomfortably in his sleep, somehow still managing to find restlessness while passed out, and the blond is unsure about what he can do to alleviate that. The demon looks at the fragility of the moment and the man. Knowing what he does of Izaya doesn’t dissuade how well Izaya has perfected the craft of hiding his own weaknesses and hollowness from the eyes of others.

 

The door was easily spelled to keep their privacy, and the commotion, before its death, was just as simply ignored. Delic’s hand comes to stroke Izaya’s face, failing to soothe any agitation with the tender, warm touch. He isn’t designed to care or to comfort and, he wonders, which piece of himself desires to. Delic’s current existence still requires Izaya’s life to continue, but no part of that necessarily requires the brunet to sleep well. He considers a bias; none of his previous summoners have been so fun to be with. Stuffy and unmoving, knowing exactly what they’ve gotten before it’s crawled out of the abyss. Izaya was poked and prodded and _reacted_ , he would fire back his own jabs to try and get under Delic’s skin. It was exhilarating. The demon thoroughly enjoyed this human’s company.

 

The demon decides he will take another risk, unresting his being once more. The rewards may outweigh the dangers, though he wishes to not think of a single disastrous outcome. Climbing onto the bed, Delic leans over Izaya. His fingers stroke down the smooth skin of his cheek before cradling his neck. Closing his eyes, the blond presses their foreheads together. A soft golden glow emanates from where their skin meets.

 

* * *

 

Shizuo cleans the spilled tea while waiting for the bedroom door to open. Seeing the puddle of green tea and shattered ceramic triggered his gut to clench. Recalling wet, panicking eyes and the frantic struggle with air that must’ve looked like himself. Celty assists, with nothing much else for either of them to do in their wait. She’s considered calling Shinra for help, but decided that she wants that demon nowhere near him, and Anri and Saika would likely be in the same predicament as herself, if not in more danger. The illegal doctor’s comments and jokes at his friend’s expense are no longer outlandish or humorous in her mind, weighing like stones marking part of the lonely path Izaya’s made for himself. Her heart goes out for him, but her pity isn’t intense. Izaya only has himself to blame until the recent turn of events.

 

Shizuo’s fierce glare is back the instant the door clicks open. “What the fuck did you do to him now, huh?”

 

“Rein in your concern, Izaya sleeps peacefully. Check on him if you want.”

 

Celty raises her hand to offer. Someone will have to pass Delic on the stairs and it’s best if it’s her. She won’t be able to keep him and Shizuo at a distance for long, but she tries to put his safety before her own for now. It still hasn’t shown her interest or hostility and Shizuo should reasonably be next on it’s list. To do what with, she’s unsure.

 

Delic nods politely as she passes, the strong heat brushes her as she walks. It burns, but reminds her of being too close to a hearth instead of a blazing forest fire. True to the demon’s words, Izaya is asleep and visually unharmed, tucked into his own bed like a child. She checks his breathing and pulse for reassurance, getting nothing abnormal.

 

Shizuo’s not going to draw his eyes away from his doppelganger for an update, ready for a confrontation when the other man reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Izaya called you Derik, right?”

 

“ _Delic._ ”

 

“ _Whatever_ ,” he tosses back at the correction. “You’re gonna answer my questions!”

 

“Am I? I don’t do those things for free--”

 

“Shut the fuck up and--”

 

“Well, I can’t do both now, can I?”

 

Shizuo growls in aggravation, lunging forward with a swing. His fist connects with the hand-railing as Delic jumps back easily, an amused smirk on display. “Are you really trying to fight me?”

 

“ _Hah?_ You think I’ve got something against punching my own face in? I’ve wanted to kick my own ass before!”

 

“My, you humans have gotten so audacious,” Delic murmurs to himself. “Okay, sure.” _This bodes to be horribly amusing._

 

“You gonna fight me like a man, or use more magic tricks like with that door?” Shizuo rolls up his sleeves as Celty runs past the demon on the stairs with panic.

 

“Was that an attempt to insult my masculinity? I’m not human or male, you know.”

 

“[You can’t be serious, it’s a demon! We don’t even know what it can entirely do!]”

 

Shizuo grunts. She’s right, and it’s _bullshit_. He’s got nothing to channel his anger into and this thing walking around with his face to torture others is laughing at him. What’s he got to lose; his life?

 

Shizuo stomps past Celty and up the stairs. Delic blinks at him, refusing to step back. His shirt is grabbed with an iron grip, yanking him in closer. Shizuo’s voice is low when he demands, “Why _me_ , huh?”

 

Delic’s lips split in to a predatory smile. “Why _not_ you?”

 

Shizuo swings with a roar. His punch phases through his mirrored image like striking air and the force sends his body toppling through the other’s. Delic turns around to look at the other blond, crumbled on the stairs. “Would you like to try that again?”

 

“ _Don’t fucking play with me._ ”

 

“Oh, but Izaya _is_ right. You’re fun, _Shizu-chan_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, it's been far too long since I've updated. I hope this chapter was really worth the wait for everyone! Lots of stuff is boiling up!
> 
> Fun writer tidbit; while originally developing this story idea I was using and listening to Big and Loud from Cats Don't Dance for inspiration. Perhaps a bit odd, but the song struck me hard as Delic writing fuel.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	11. Dogs That Bark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dogs bark over territory.

“Is that what you’re having with Izaya right now?” One blond says to the other, his lips turned in disgust and teeth baring. “ _Fun?_ ”

 

The other pauses in thought, face flattening into neutrality, as he stares back at the glare on him with stony eyes. “Who knows?”

 

Shizuo growls back at the ambiguous non-answer while rising from his fall.

 

Celty steps towards the stairs, unable to place herself between the two. Something in her gut feels askew, twisted in one direction as if she’s bending awkwardly. The look they’re sharing makes her feel invisible and, though she’s slightly grateful in this case, she worries about a one-sided fight breaking out. The dullahan is unsure if even she can take on a full-bodied demon. As far as she can remember, she’s never had to.

 

Shizuo’s body is taut, spring-loaded for whatever action he might need to pull, and deceptively calm to the neglectful eye. Delic’s posture lacks the other’s tightness, shoulders more lax in their straightness. His eyes are steel, despite his outward pose. One unfamiliar with Shizuo Heiwajima’s fierce abilities and temper would akin him to an animal backed into a corner, poised to fight for their lives, instead of a more correct assumption like that of the tempted watchdog, itching for their cue. A human familiar with Dēloun would never be so brash to instigate a fight, regardless of the thing, person, or place at stake.

 

“Tell me, Shizuo Heiwajima, why do you care to stand there between me and the man you profess hatred towards?” The demon’s voice is cool and inquisitive. The verbalization could be taken as a blessing. He could find out for himself, pierce through the human easily like a needle through cloth. Pulling everything he could ever desire to know out of the man like loose thread.

 

“Why do you care about me at all if you can just walk through me like I don’t fucking exist?”

 

Delic snaps into laughter, rigid expression crinkling into one of relaxed amusement. “I like your bark, _Shizu-chan_.”

 

“Something about hearin’ that shitty nickname in my own voice makes me wanna rip my tongue out and shove it down my throat.”

 

“Who would service our cute little informant then?”

 

Instead of lunging forward, Shizuo grips the railing. It bends in his fingers, worthlessly thinning and crumbling like discarded paper. “I got a pretty good idea of your game,” revulsion bleeds through his voice, “and it’s fucking _vile_.”

 

“Oh? Do you now?” Delic’s curiosity boils. He actually considers finding out for himself, foregoing any good merits he might be creating and ignoring Izaya’s soft mumbles. Positive terms are more convenient than negative terms, but self gratification is something he cannot always pass up on, and he’s certainly not known to. Delic’s hand waves an urging gesture, static quickly snapping off of the flesh, and leans forward. “Do tell.”

 

“I’m not playing games with you.” Shizuo knows that the more he speaks the more he’ll be lead around. Magical powers notwithstanding, this thing’s got the same schtick as Izaya, and no one has more experience dealing with his games than Shizuo himself. If he doesn’t explain himself, he can’t be adapted to.

 

Delic clicks his tongue loudly. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Shizuo’s assessment is correct or Shizuo’s assessment is wrong, Izaya still isn’t around to string up. The outcome would be more enjoyable if everything unravels while he’s awake and at the center.

 

Shizuo’s body jolts in place instinctively when Delic turns, unexpectedly walking towards the kitchen instead of to the bedroom. He blinks, sharing a confused look with Celty, before following carefully.

 

The demon scours the kitchen, opening all of the cabinets and lifting up the smaller appliances as if there will be a written label on the bottom of each one. Namie is the only cook in Izaya’s apartment and it shows with the barest amount of essentials. There are plenty of plates, cups, utensils, and the like for a group, as if Izaya actually throws dinner parties here. Shizuo and Celty don’t exactly know what to make of the unusual actions, especially in regards to the previous. The dullahan is the first to address it.

 

“[Can I… help you find something?]”

 

“I’ve never needed help finding anything, but you can tell me what you use this thing for exactly.” He replies, gesturing briskly at the microwave. “I understand that it is small, but what does the wave entail?”

 

Here is where Celty would find herself staring rudely, had she had a pair of eyes attached somewhere. “[The microwave heats things up for you.]”

 

“So a wave of heat. _Fascinating_.” Delic goes about pressing various buttons on the appliance, managing to turn it on and gazing at the glass bottom as it spins.

 

Shizuo watches the childish curiosity with open disbelief, face almost comical from the sudden shift in behavior from the creature.

 

“[You didn’t know what a microwave was for?]”

 

Delic’s lips hint a pout, “Izaya Orihara refused to even tell me why it is called a telephone though it contains small pictures and texts rather than sound.”

 

Without her helmet on, no one is aware that she’s cocked her head. “[When was the last time you were in the human realm?]”

 

“That would depend on many things; like the current state of Greece.”

 

“[Greece?!]”

 

The blond ignores her, examining the refrigerator next. He gasps as he opens it, revealing the earthly delights he’d been searching for. Izaya is a man of healthier choices and a small appetite and, unfortunately for the one most excited by the prospects of what can be held inside of a refrigerator, all that it is contained inside are two dishes prepared by Namie, sitting forgotten by the day’s events, and enough fixings for a meager salad.

 

 _Pathetic_ , Delic, Celty, and Shizuo think in unison.

 

Delic leans back towards Celty, keeping his eyes on the cold, barren shelves as he stage-whispers. “So, where do the humans keep their wine these days?”

 

Shizuo blandly and eloquently interjects, “What the fuck.”

 

“[I’ve never seen Izaya drink.]” The demon’s face twists in abject horror. “[Do demons need to eat or drink?]”

 

“My sustenance is provided by humans, but why would I ever answer a summons if I do not get to enjoy their food and drink?” The blond turns to Shizuo, who is still gazing back with absurdity. “Humans still gather to drink and be merry, do they not?”

 

“Uh, yeah? But Izaya’s not one of those people.”

 

“Tragic.”

 

“His life or his personality?”

 

“I quite like his personality.”

 

“You’re a demon.”

 

“That devalues my opinion?”

 

“Kinda, yeah--” Shizuo growls, realizing he’s been pleasantly conversing with Delic and snapping out of it. “The fuck?! Are you only here, torturing a guy with _my_ face and body, to get wasted and gorge yourself?!”

 

“Of course not, there’s also the delights of the flesh.” Delic replies silkily as Shizuo sneers in disgust. The bile sitting in his stomach threatening to rise.

 

Shizuo shakes his head sternly, eyes staring back cold. “He doesn’t want you touching him.”

 

Delic reads it all easily, Shizuo’s honest and blunt nature bleeding through his posture like cotton tissue against a hemophiliac’s wound. _I_ won’t let you touch him, it says. It’s _cute_. He wonders how much he could poke and prod the tough little human in front of him. Then, he immediately wonders why he isn’t already doing so. Perhaps he already knows Shizuo’s type and how boring it can be to mess around with. Perhaps he cares more to find out where the alcohol and gatherings with music are located at. Perhaps it is a five foot nine brunet, whose face goes rosy when his eyes tear up and whose voice and breath hitches when touched in just the right places.

 

“You’re right; not me. Not yet.”

 

Shizuo glares as Delic’s pink eyes are avid. He’s advanced upon slowly, refusing to move or bend under that dangerously bright gaze.

 

“Would you like to watch,” the demon asks smoothly

 

Shizuo spits back, “Don’t screw with me.”

 

“Voyeurism is wondrous for someone not into threesomes.”

 

As Delic prowls closer, his voice lowers in volume and tone. “Listen to every whimper, whine, and moan that slips from his lips.”

 

Shizuo heart beats quicker. He refuses to back up and show that the words are affecting him, allowing the creature with its mimicking appearance to stand a hair’s length apart from himself.

 

Delic leans in, their breath mingling together. “Do you think that he’ll cry out for you?”

 

Shizuo swallows, voice coming out low and biting. “I’ve never wanted to wring my own neck before.”

 

The other blond exhales a laugh. He’s neither disappointed nor enthralled that the man isn’t reacting. A curiosity he’s not allowing himself to indulge in isn’t being replaced by boredom either. The demon’s at a standstill and greatly dislikes it.

 

“Do something nice to thank him when he wakes up.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s only my suggestion.” Delic shrugs his shoulder, dismissing Shizuo’s confusion entirely.

 

Shizuo watches his own blank face as he’s addressed with a piqued monotone. “I usually do not rein myself in from my own desires, Shizuo Heiwajima.” Shizuo’s stomach lurches and his chest seizes, he’s entirely unsure of what to make of the information and the delivery.

 

Delic turns, the other blond of no use to him. Shizuo finds his voice quickly without those shocking eyes boring into him. “Why would he do that?” He’s not sure if he’s accusing Delic of lying or asking a genuine question.

 

Delic tips his head over his shoulder to look back at Shizuo with one apathetic eye. His smirk is sharp and serrated by a grin creeping out. “Who knows?”

 

Shizuo grits his teeth, murmuring under his breath. “ _Bastard_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been far too long! Even I hate taking this long to update my own fic! Sadly, life has been exceedingly rough on me as of late, and then my birthday came... I hope everyone finds this chapter worth the wait and horrifically interesting. (I'm almost anxious enough to ask questions of my lovely, loyal readers.)
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! (Yes, even the anon that came to my tumblr to ask about updates!) As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	12. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celty is left alone with Delic.

Shizuo has no idea what to do now besides sit and wait and make sure that _thing_ stays away from Izaya. He knows shit-all about demons; there was nothing else he _could_ do. Knowing a few of the things it had in its arsenal, he’s not even sure he can keep it away from Izaya if it truly wants to be there kissing, groping-- _whatever_ gross shit it wanted to do to him. Luckily, it seemed to have gotten bored with Shizuo when he refused to rise at its words, returning to wandering around the apartment and inspecting everything instead of back up to Izaya’s bedroom.

 

The blond returns to the armchair he had claimed previously, raking his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. His whole day had went to utter shit. More so than usual when Izaya’s involved.

 

“[You seem really tired.]”

 

“Yeah, who fucking wouldn’t be?” The demon made a passing threat on his life it seemed, going so far as to screw with him with the nonsense about Izaya telling it not to hurt him. Shizuo knows there are people that want to kill him, Izaya’s one of them, but none of them were quite as threatening as the visage of himself. Delic’s eyes fucking shone with wanting to do _something_ unsavory, only holding back because he wanted to screw with Shizuo more first. Seeing his own face look back at him with such expressions, Shizuo wondered if he’s ever made the same or similar ones. Does he look so disgusting, so terrifying?

 

Thinking over Celty’s comment again, he asks, “Do you think it’s trying to attach to me like it’s done to Izaya?”

 

“[It’s attached to Izaya because he gave it permission and brought it here, but I don’t think it wants you like that.]”

 

“ _Like that_?”

 

It takes Celty a few seconds to choose her words. Her mind is still hung up on the fact that Izaya’s suffering is from his one-sided love for Shizuo. She wants to tell Shizuo and at the same time she doesn’t. It doesn’t feel like her place, but he does sort of have a right to know now, seeing as everyone can see Delic now. Regardless, Shizuo deserves to rest first before that bombshell. “[I’m positive it’s feeding off of Izaya’s distress.]”

 

“Yeah,” Shizuo says softly. “I figured.”

 

Shizuo makes an annoyed grunt, sinking back into the chair. He looks frayed to Celty. Exhausted and on edge. She can’t imagine what he’s thinking with all of this. Despite them both knowing that it’s on Izaya for bringing it here, Shizuo still feels guilty and he has to be involved, he has no choice now with it physically manifesting as him.

 

“[You should go home and get some rest.]”

 

“No, I can’t do that. You have a better chance against it, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave you alone with it.”

 

The dullahan places an appreciative hand on his shoulder. “[Then just get some rest; it’s late.]” She types her next message without looking at the keypad, gazing over at Delic whose been lingering at Izaya’s bookshelves for some time now. “[I’ll be fine. He doesn’t seem to feel any one way towards me. If anything, he’s friendly towards me.]” _Maybe I can get more out of_ _him_ , Celty thinks. She doubts that she could reason Delic back to wherever he came from, but if he’s willing to talk then who knows?

 

Shizuo seems to be mulling it over, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two and then stopping at the bedroom door at the top of the stairs. “Yeah, okay. Just, uh… Smash something if you need me.” He couldn’t deny that he was tired and he didn’t wanna risk having to talk to it again. Getting some sleep should freshen his mind and give him more energy for tomorrow, being tired around that thing would leave him far more open.

 

The blond straightens up from his spot and picks up the armchair as if it’s made entirely of plastic instead of metal and cotton, carrying it up the stairs and into the bedroom. Delic blinks as he disappears behind the door, eyes brought to attention by the large furniture moving quietly.

 

“Izaya Orihara’s bed is large enough for three people.” He muses aloud. The lock of the bedroom door clicks loudly in the silence then, urging out a swallowed laugh from the demon. He’s amused by how little Shizuo thinks of him, or perhaps he’s amused by the fact the other blond feels more comfortable with a locked and closed door that does nothing to hinder him.

 

Celty watches the demon for a few minutes in the quiet. That presence lingers in the air again, watching her stand still. The tension of the room had calmed after that supernatural storm. Do all demons give off auras? Her only otherwise experience is Saika and it’s stuck in a physical object. Delic turns pages in the book he’s withdrawn, his expression neutral and soft. The dullahan works up her nerves to approach him finally.

 

Best to make conversation first. “[What are you reading?]”

 

The blond turns to her once the phone is lifted in his direction, not minding being pulled away from the book in his hands. “I’m not, really. Skimming, more like.” He closes it, holding the cover up for her. “Izaya is quite into mythology. There’s quite a few here on the topic of Celtic and Norse mythology.”

 

Celty turns towards the shelves when he gestures a slow wave at them. “[It feels silly to want to ask if Norse myths hold any water, considering you and I exist.]”

 

Delic chuckles softly with an open smile, “I wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did.”

 

“[Demons don’t interact with other… supernatural creatures often?]”

 

“Not in our own realms, but it’s against my rules as a demon to answer those questions. Even to a creature like you, Miss Dullahan. I’m sorry.”

 

The genuinity and honesty in his voice took her by surprise. The expressions she saw earlier, was this really the same demon from earlier? Was she just that special? No, she couldn’t be. Could she? If he was going to be so amendable and receptive to her and her questions… Celty has to get whatever information she can to help Shizuo and Izaya.

 

“[Your rules? Demons have things they can’t do?]”

 

“Every demon of my category has a strict rule set. Then, of course, I have my own personal ones I bend however I like.” Delic answers without pause for thought, switching out his book for another to skim through.

 

“[Did you explain them to Izaya?]” The phone’s withdrawn quickly for an addition. “[In detail?]”

 

“Of course,” he says quickly. Delic had explained the rules for his usable powers, and _just_ the powers of his that he lent around. Izaya might have had an inkling about the lightning magic before it came all out, but it’s not like Delic lends that to his summoners. He had to have some things to protect himself with and he wasn’t a demon that killed people. Humans may have a the mentality about demons being wholly morally corrupt, but he wasn’t as hermitous as some other demons. “I don’t think he entirely believes that I’m incapable of lying.”

 

“[You’re incapable of lying… To him?]”

 

The blond’s smile is bright and wide, almost virtuous. “At all.”

 

Izaya’s previous words of caution with how Delic words his sentences strike her again. He really can’t lie? Why _would_ he lie to her about this? Would he gain something from it? What? Celty wishes she could shake her head to try and rattle out the Izaya-esque thought pattern brewing up. The smoke pouring from her neck gushes in a quick, irritated puff.

 

The phone’s held out bluntly. “[You’re not hostile with me like with Shizuo. Why?]”

 

“Should I be?” His open, inquisitive eyes are on her smoke, where her eyes should be.

 

Celty’s hand jerks. _Is… Is he just like this? Where’s that previous deviousness and ill intent?_ She doesn’t feel like he’s trying to fool or mess around with her. Her gut reminded her that, while it _was_ Shizuo’s face she was looking at, it wasn’t Shizuo. She doesn’t feel the urge to believe him because she sees her friend, she just _wants_ to believe him because he seems like he’s telling her the truth.

 

“I mostly like to avoid making enemies, Miss Dullahan. Not to gloat, but if we were to spar, it’d be an unfair match.” Delic’s eyes twinkle but it doesn’t sound like a threat as much as it sounds like a droll ordeal he doesn’t want to deal with.

 

“[I think you might mean to gloat.]” He laughs. “[You can call me Celty. Celty Sturluson.]”

 

“I’ve learnt such from Izaya. My proper name is Dēloun. I suppose it’s a tad pointless to tell you not to refer to me as such.” When Celty pauses in confusion before going to her phone to ask him to explain what he means, Delic has already read her body and opened his mouth to elaborate. “You should never speak a demon’s real name. It makes them stronger, if you’re human.”

 

It’s then that the demon sees something that catches his eye. His fingers snap sharply and Celty hears a bolt of lightning strike something before she catches a glimpse of it. The sudden strike hits the floor close enough to graze her abandoned helmet, the shock-wave and energy jolting it up like a bounced ball. Delic catches it with expertly practiced ease, offering it forward to the dullahan.

 

“It’s nice to be formally introduced, Celty.”

 

Celty’s body twists, turning back from the spot on the floor where the bolt had struck to her completely undamaged helmet in his hands. Delic blinks when her phone is held out towards him excitedly. “[That was… Pretty cool!]”

 

The blond laughs warmly. “Thanks, I’m quite the...” He spins his fingers in a circle as if he’s searching for the right word before snapping them again, sparks rippling out from the contact. “ _F_ _lashy_ fellow.” Celty’s shoulders shake with amusement from the frankly _corny_ joke.

 

Delic watches her shoulders stiffen after reattaching her helmet. He can feel the lightened mood slip away like loose sand under a wave and his lips set together in a straight line. Just as with the other blond, his conversing partner remembers what they’re talking to exactly. She steps back to hold out her next message at arm’s length. “[Are you going to keep tormenting Izaya?]”

 

“I have no reason to harm Izaya Orihara unless he threatens our covenant,” he replies stoically.

 

“[Then what was that earlier? I don’t know what you’ve been doing to him alone, but what I saw… You’re eating his life or something. And you’re doing it as _Shizuo_. You’re hitting him at his weakest spot.]”

 

“I cannot change my form once it has been cemented, nor can I change the past.” Delic pauses, eyes actively searching at nothing in his fingers. “The moment was suitable – _perfect_ for the remainder of energy I required to become corporeal.” His head rises, eyes hardening at her. “You are not the one who I owe atonement.”

 

The shock of those bright, stony eyes on her with his concrete tone make Celty’s fingers twitch, her arm pulling back. There’s silence between them for a minute before she begins tapping at the keys.

 

“[You’re sincerely apologetic.]” A statement, not a question.

 

His eyes stare at the black lettering unwaveringly, as if it were an art piece he’s trying to solve the meaning of.

 

“I am long aware that my existence is parasitic in nature, but I have the right to exist just as any other creature.”

 

Celty lowers her arm to her side as she gazes at the demon in front of her. The friendliness, albeit largely towards her, and the child-like curiosity of all the things around him made more sudden and striking sense to her. It’s horrifically humanizing and relatable to her. She feels at an impasse. It merely wants to exist, to experience the things humans of the modern day experience, it understands and is mournful of its own nature and requirements to be. Izaya made a poor choice, but… Celty recalls Anri. If the young woman had learnt to control and live with Saika with it actively fighting against her, Izaya could suck it up and deal with a demon that just wants to drink wine and go to parties or whatever novelty it enjoys of the era.

 

“[You can exist now without draining anymore from Izaya?]”

 

Delic reads her question thrice, eyes following each character slowly. Finally, he says, “Yes.”

 

“[And Shizuo? You threatened him.]”

 

The demon suddenly becomes _sheepish_ of all things. “Ah, well. It really _is_ fun to push Heiwajima’s buttons. He almost bristles like a cat dumped into a bath. And I can’t help but be curious of the mind of the man I appear as.” There’s a tiny smile on his face as he says, “I really don’t mean ill, despite whatever idea Heiwajima seems to have of me. I mean, the guy took a swing at me knowing what I was.” Delic’s voice is airy, holding back just how amused by that he was. It was almost as good as Izaya’s attempt at stabbing him.

 

Celty appraises him flatly. This guy… If Izaya hadn’t been so hysterical and did go on to accept the demon’s apologies and companionship, they’d probably get along just fine. Likely at Shizuo’s expense.

 

Delic slowly reaches out, placing his hand atop of her forearm. His touch is warm to her cold body. “Would you be so kind as to teach me how to make tea, Celty?”

 

Celty’s shoulders heave a heavy sigh. This situation is complicated. The Black Rider is amidst a gray sea of choices. It doesn’t even feel like a battle or struggle anymore. She can’t make compromises for Izaya, it’s not her place. He needs to be the one talking to the creature he brought here in the first place. She doesn’t know what happened between them prior to Shizuo calling her for help, but she thinks she’s lost all or at least most of her suspicions of the creature before her.

 

Her posture is loose when she flicks the message at him quickly. “[Sure.]”

 

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing so much for Celty, I do hope she's in character to everyone. This is probably my longest chapter to date as well! Two point four thousand words, wow! As more of Delic's character comes out, we reach closer to, what I suppose is, the next act.
> 
> The ending is technically quite a bit aways still, I never write with chapter numbers in mind, and I'm still tweaking around with how I want this story to end. Same goes a bit with TAT. Though I have plenty planned out for them both, these two fics weren't planned out with definite conclusions in mind yet. Though I really want my number of ongoing longfics to stay at two, I've been conversing with my friend about a third fic that is entirely one hundred percent planned out and perfected from start to finish. I was going to put it off til TAT was done as it's also hard Shizuo/Izaya and I'd like to keep one Shizuo/Izaya and one Delic/Izaya going at the same time, but this third fic could be an effective palate cleanser when I wish to write but am working kinks out with AIB and or TAT. I suppose this large wall of rambling text is me asking for opinions and thoughts, oops. I'd like to reserve that to my tumblr but I doubt it'd actually read the largest percent of my readers.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	13. Far, Far Away From Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya wakes up.

Izaya wakes up in his bed, but not inside of his bedroom.

 

He jolts back, there’s another man in bed with him, sleeping alongside of him. He recognizes the face, the head of hair, but with their eyes closed he can’t tell if it’s Shizuo or Delic. In his abrupt movement Izaya horrifically realizes he’s been stripped bare.

 

“ _What is this?!_ ” Izaya’s head spins metaphorically and literally, looking around hastily to take in his bizarre new surroundings. The bed sits alone in a meadow. There’s bright green grass and shockingly pink flowers in bloom as far as his eyes can see. Orchids, roses, gladioluses, tulips, various flowers Izaya’s mind can’t keep track of mingling happily in patches. A lone cherry tree gives shade to the furniture, unnecessarily as large baby pink clouds blot out the sun.

 

Izaya grits his teeth. He remembers the _haze_ and the voices and the _things_ lingering around him like a thick fog, touching him. He remembers _that voice_ telling him the only thing he’s simultaneously desired and detested to hear, crying and breaking down, and submitting to that _creature_. Izaya’s _furious_ and needs to take out his anger on something, so he swats the sleeping man next to him. When his hand phases through the skin he chokes out a sob.

 

“ _Answer me, Dēloun! What the hell is this?!” Am I trapped?_

 

Wherever he is right now is fake, an illusion. No longer concerned about his nudity, he quickly jumps out of bed. His foot meets no solid surface and Izaya panics, grasping at the bedsheets and the side of the bed. The meadow fissures like water and Izaya can see where he’s partially sunken into it. His feet feel like they’re touching air rather than a water based texture. The brunet pulls himself back up, tugging the sheets up to cocoon himself as much as possible and falling back flat onto the mattress.

 

His heart is pounding rapidly and, in trying to calm it, Izaya realizes that despite his covering, he’s still fairly cold. There’s a moisture in the air but a lack of dew speckling the flowers. He watches the clouds float by, dense and ready for a downpour. One side of his body is warmer than the other and it’s at that moment that he realizes that his faux bed-mate is radiating heat.

 

Izaya’s left with no other option and so he scoots closer to the dubious illusion. Their skin presses and it _reacts_ , an arm reaching over to secure the brunet’s body. He struggles, quickly realizing that the effort’s in vain. “I _hate_ you,” he grits out defiantly. “I _don’t care_ who you’re meant to be, I _hate_ you!”

 

* * *

 

The sun’s begun to rise before the supernatural duo realizes, lost amidst friendly chatter.

 

“A lot of the humans during that time mistook me for Zeus, and when it wasn’t him, it was Dionysus. It was quite nice though. Wine, women, whatever I wanted, really.”

 

“[You sound disheartened.]”

 

“Do I? As lovely as you and your company are, I miss the wine most of all.”

 

“[It’s fascinating to know that demons can become drunk.]”

 

“Twice as hard, but eventually. You have to aim for it.” He pauses. “It’s rather… Freeing to be partially removed from myself at times.”

 

Silence momentarily drifts over the two lounging on the couch. Celty realizes by looking at his unfocused, wandering eyes that there’s something Delic wishes to express but is struggling to phrase correctly. It takes him a couple minutes, but his voice returns delicately.

 

“I… Believe that I can relate to you, Celty. Often, I feel as though my head has been removed and I’m searching for things that I’m unsure if I even truly seek.”

 

Her fingers softly tap against the keyboard, breaking up the silence. “[Do you think it’s because of what you are?]”

 

“Assuredly.” His eyes drift to the lone teacup on the coffee table. “Being born of disorder, I am inherently dysphoric.”

 

“[Born?]”

 

The solemn expression is wiped away instantaneously for a cheerful smile. “Another tale for another day, hm?”

 

Celty’s typing out a call-out on his poor attempt to avoid the question when Delic straightens in place, pink irises illuminating. “Izaya Orihara awakens.”

 

* * *

 

Izaya’s head throbs as he comes to reality. His brain feels as though he’s been up-sided with a sledgehammer and it takes him several blinks to see straight. His bed is bare, with the exception of himself, and the room is heated to his liking. He can see buildings and clouds in the sky outside of his bedroom windows and he’s still fully dressed in clothes from yesterday.

 

Izaya shifts in the comfort of his actual bed and _reality_. He rolls over to see the time and reels back at the feet propped up on his bedside table. Sitting up, Izaya fully takes in the image of Shizuo asleep in one of his living room armchairs. He looks peaceful despite the uncomfortable position. The brunet watches the gentle rise and fall of Shizuo’s chest for a moment longer before shoving his feet off of his furniture. The blond startles with a sharp inhale, looking around to gather his surroundings before groaning.

 

“This is _not_ a barn, you animal.”

 

Shizuo rubs his face to help wake himself up quicker. “Well, you’re feeling better.”

 

“I feel _atrocious_ ,” Izaya corrects.

 

“Good enough.” The gruff of sleep is almost entirely out of his voice and his mind is growing more active. “Listen, we gotta talk. About… You, and me, and that thing.”

 

Fear floods through the brunet, shocking and freezing him as if ice water has replaced the blood in his veins. He has no idea what Delic or Celty may or may not have said to Shizuo. Izaya’s been pining over the blond since high school and he still can’t handle the thought of it being known by the man himself. The pity and disgust that’ll surely flash through those honey brown eyes at him will surely make his heart rot.

 

“I need to use the restroom,” he says quickly, trying to get untangled from the bedsheets. Izaya makes it two steps before Shizuo’s grabbed his arm. When he reels back at the touch, Shizuo’s fingers recoil from his skin as if burned.

 

“Listen to me for a minute,” he tries, standing up to chase.

 

“I _really_ have to use the restroom, Shizu-chan. Whatever it is can wait.”

 

Izaya grasps the doorknob too tightly and tugs, the door opens five centimeters before slamming back loudly. Shizuo keeps his hand flat on the door, the wood groaning as the brunet tries once more. Izaya feels his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. He’s trapped with the blond, whose now looming over him.

 

“I get it, _you’re scared,_ I’m _sorry_.”

 

“...What?” Izaya’s eyes slowly rise to meet Shizuo’s, hand leaving the doorknob.

 

“Despite what you think of me, I’m not an idiot and I’m not a monster. I get that you’ve always thought really low of me, but you don’t have to be scared of me like that.”

 

“Shizu-chan’s not making any sense.”

 

“I might’ve only seen half of whatever that _thing_ was doing to you, but I want you to trust me with me. I’m never gonna...” Shizuo pulls back, mouth in a straight line, and makes a noise of discomfort. “Force myself on to you...sexually.” His lip twitches in disgust.

 

Izaya blinks in disbelief. The blond had reached the conclusion that he had grown a fear of being raped by the other man. He exhales a bitter laugh as he staggers backwards. Fear was so much more plausible to Shizuo than Izaya being some pathetic, lovestruck fool. Relief isn’t what Izaya feels. His insides feel layered with tar, he just wants to crawl back into bed and be left alone.

 

“Leave,” Izaya whispers with a blank face.

 

Shizuo opens his mouth to say something and decides against it, doing as told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, "Act Two" should be next chapter and, uh, oh boy. If you're the type to guess eagerly, I suggest rereadings now?
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	14. Sprouting Heads (Hydra)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One is never truly alone with themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Only human, after all  
> So they give and we take  
> ‘Til their silly hearts break"  
> Only Human, Eric Anderson and Carrie Manolakos - Death Note Musical

Upon hearing the bedroom door click open, Celty and Delic’s eyes turn to Shizuo. He rubs his face with his hands, mumbling a curse under his breath, before departing down the stairs. He had made himself clear to Izaya, and that’s all he really _c_ _an_ do in this situation. Celty stands up from the couch when he approaches.

 

“I think I’m just gonna run to the convenience store and get us some breakfast, since Izaya’s got jack-shit to cook with.” Some fresh air will help him relax, ease his mind and nerves. Besides, making sure the skinny brunet gets a solid meal is the least Shizuo can do.

 

Celty nods, “[Can I talk to you for a minute first?]”

 

Shizuo sighs an alright, leading her to the door so he can put his shoes on as Celty types her message and give them some minor privacy. Delic’s preoccupied enough, as worrying as that makes him, staring up at the bedroom door from his seat.

 

“[Do you trust that I’m in my right mind when I say that… I think Delic’s not really a problem, per se.]”

 

“ _What?_ You saw – _more than I did –_ what he did yesterday, _right_?”

 

“[I’ve been talking to him all night. He seems genuinely remorseful for what he’s done and I believe him when he says that he just wants to enjoy the human realm.]”

 

“How do you know it’s not just lying to you and saying whatever to get what it wants?”

 

Celty types quickly, boldly shoving her phone at Shizuo’s face. “[How do I ever know that you’re not?]” It’s harsh.

 

“Celty,” Shizuo starts quietly. “What if it’s trying to fool you with my face? Like it’s doing with Izaya.”

 

“[It’s weird, but. I can feel it in my gut; like an extra sense. He gives off something and my body just won’t let me forget that it’s not you I’m looking at.]” Her senses had been unusual since stepping into Izaya’s apartment. The feeling of a presence in the air watching her, the odd warmth she can feel coming off of the demon when she’s close by.

 

Shizuo stares into the black of her visor, unsure of what to make of her words. He wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, but, when it comes to _that thing_ , he doesn’t want to extend the same courtesy. Shizuo trusts her judgments, but he has every reason to hold his grudge and disgust. “I can’t let it go,” he finally says.

 

Shizuo opens the front door, turning back to gaze at the demon, still watching the door fixedly. “Leave him alone,” he sternly demands. Delic’s eyes slowly slide to the blond, his head still. Shizuo’s hand tightens on the doorknob, unsettled.

 

Delic waits all of one second after the door shuts, rising to climb the stairs. Celty decides not to follow. The two need to talk and she’s unnecessary. She doesn’t want to pick up anymore of Izaya’s secrets.

 

“Izaya Orihara,” the blond says as he enters the bedroom.

 

Izaya’s cocooned himself back into the bed sheets, body turned towards the empty middle. The blinds on the windows have been mostly drawn, only giving splinters of light to the room. Delic pads to the bedside, sitting down and leaning over, propping one arm over Izaya’s form. “I can sense your distress,” his voice comes soft.

 

There’s a mechanical _click_ , and Izaya rolls over swiftly. His eyes are red and wet, but glare none the less sharp. His hand twists, tight grip unfaltering, and warm blood drains down his switchblade and hand. Delic’s entirely unphased, face gently gazing down at the brunet.

 

“What could I do to comfort you?” He asks with a smooth baritone.

 

Izaya’s hand twitches and releases his weapon. The knife is slowly pushed out of the demon’s torso as his body heals. The switchblade falls to the bedspread, smearing the design with the sticky crimson.

 

“ _Leave me alone_ ,” Izaya croaks.

 

“I’m afraid I cannot. Stab me again if you wish.”

 

Izaya breathes shakily, “What are you doing to me?”

 

“Nothing; as of the moment, as from now on.”

 

“ _I don’t believe you_.”

 

“I know. You cannot trust my words, so I’m left with my actions.”

 

Delic straightens, both hands grasping Izaya’s dirtied hand. The red, viscous rivers that had flowed down his limb are drying sluggishly. Izaya watches enthralled, as the other man delicately lifts his hand and bows to place a kiss to the back. Delic’s irises bleed over and neonize in the moment.

 

“I owe you penance and I await any orders, Master Izaya Orihara.”

 

Izaya’s teeth grit, mouth warping into a snarl. He jolts forward, shoving Delic back onto the mattress and straddling him. He’s retrieved his switchblade, forcing it into the demon’s chest again.

 

“ _What’s your game this time?_ ” Izaya demands loudly.

 

“I lack one. I have no desire to deceive you.” Delic’s expression is flat, blasé.

 

“ _I don’t believe you!_ ” The blade is turned, still garnering no reaction.

 

“I understand,” he speaks quietly.

 

Izaya’s breathing is still off kilter. Each inhale is permeated with the coppery scent of blood. Eventually, he leans back, the back of his clean hand coming to cover his mouth.

 

“What,” he sharply inhales. “What did you do to me last night; that dream?”

 

Delic blinks slowly, staying still against the bed. “Your sleep was restless, I desired to alleviate it.”

 

“By putting me in that… _That place_?”

 

“I apologize if it did not so. I do not...know of the conscious unconscious well.”

 

Izaya’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the man below him. “And that haze last night, whatever spell you put on me for that nightmarish trance?”

 

Delic watches him, eyes scanning his face. “Haze?” He questions, sounding sincere enough to the informant.

 

“I could feel some of it there in that place too. That… Muggy, constricting air, like I can’t breathe properly.”

 

“I can do no such thing. Izaya Orihara, I am a demon of absolute truths and stark realities. I cannot create illusions, it is the purpose of my existence to shatter as such.”

 

Izaya’s eyes widen, his fingers letting go of the handle. Without resistance, the switchblade begins to rise out of the mending wound. “You’re lying,” he whispers in disbelief.

 

“I cannot,” Delic says quickly and earnestly.

 

“ _You--_ ” Izaya starts piercingly and halts. His fingers tremble, gut churning and bile threatening to rise. He hastily scoots off of and away from the demon, pressing his back against the bedpost and wall. Delic sits up, the knife falling to the spread and smearing more scarlet liquid onto the design. Both of Izaya’s hands cover his mouth, no longer mindful of the blood painting his one hand. The blond reaches forward to cup Izaya’s neck in a comforting gesture, only for his hand to be slapped away aggressively a few mere inches away.

 

“It’s inside of me,” Izaya’s voice strains. His eyes are frantic, looking everywhere around the room. His dirtied hand grasps onto the sheets for dear life, as if he’ll begin sinking again. “I can’t see it,” he gasps, heartbeat and breathing out of rhythm. “It doesn’t have a form, so it has to be--”

 

“Izaya...” Delic tries gently, but the other man is beyond calming.

 

“ _What did you bring with you?!_ ”

 

Delic falls silent, hand going back to his side. For minutes the only noise in the bedroom is Izaya’s hysterical breathing as he quakes in place.

 

When Delic finally opens his mouth to speak, his voice is insipid. “My other half.”

 

“ _Who_?” Izaya demands, confusion harshly evident.

 

“You don’t want to give them power--”

 

Izaya interrupts, his voice risen to almost shrieking. “ _I need to know_!”

 

Delic hesitates, unsure if he should obey to help Izaya’s state of mind or not.

 

Fingers press into the back of Izaya’s hand, pads rubbing and nails scratching at the drying blood. Izaya’s eyes fly off of Delic to his limb. Out of one of the staining scarlet puddles on the spread, a red hand has begun emerging. Izaya’s jolts away and his scream pierces through the walls of the room, eclipsing Delic’s depressed response.

 

“It’s Psykhê.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how no one saw this twist coming. I did plenty of early set up and hinting for everything. I always try to give my works reread value, so maybe, now knowing recent revelations, my readers can find renewed enjoyment of it as a whole.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	15. Soul (Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every human is but a mere plaything to a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to make a simple correction last chapter. Psyche's name here is meant to be spelt Psykhê, as Delic's demon name is meant to be Dēloun. Both, of course, using their Greek origin.

Hearing Izaya’s scream, Celty jolts from her seat and runs up the stairs. The door flies open without resistance and she’s greeted with the horrific scene. Blood’s spilt and smeared across the bed spread, Izaya’s arm is painted with the fluid. The brunet’s eyes are wide and petrified as he desperately kicks at the red limb rising from a bubbling puddle. Each strike proves worthless, his foot phasing through each time.

 

“Izaya,” Delic coaxes at the man’s side, trying to get him off of the bed. He’s entirely ignored until the other demon seems tired of Izaya’s fighting and outright grabs his foot. Their inhuman strength tugs and Izaya’s dragged toward it with a loud shriek. His hands grasp the first solid surface they touch and he latches onto the blond. Celty can see from of the glare on the demon’s face that he’s fed up. Delic’s hands firmly grip Izaya, harsh static rising and rippling off of his flesh. Izaya’s breathing stills in surprise as sparks shoot down his body like a wire, connecting with the forming demon’s grasp on his foot and igniting. The red limb bursts like a balloon, the blood splattering on the sheets and Izaya’s foot.

 

“Did that--”

  
“No,” Delic’s voice is terse. “I only got them to let you go, they’ll just try again in a moment. C’mon.”

 

Izaya allows Delic to keep his hands on his arms as he gets off of the bed. “ _You brought it here._ ”

 

“No, Psykhê follows me wherever I go.” He says, eyes narrowing.

 

“[Chases you, you mean?]” The screen interjects upon seeing his thinning lips. Celty can feel him as she approaches, the demon’s hotter than before. Was it because Delic was angry?

 

“Yes, I’m afraid.”

 

“It was _inside_ of me; it was feeding off of me this entire time too! _And yo_ _u allowed it._ ”

 

“ _No_ ,” the blond’s hands slip up to Izaya’s shoulders.” _You_ didn’t summon Psykhê. They’ve been feeding off of _me_.” The ire in his eyes soften with his attempts to comfort. “Psykhê could only ever look through you, Izaya, and I tried to keep those windows shut.” Delic’s voice quiets, “I’ve never been bled in such a manner, I didn’t think they’d be able to do this...”

 

Delic’s hands continue to travel upwards, one slipping around Izaya’s neck to cradle it and the other cupping his cheek. The choker slowly materializes snug against Izaya’s flesh. The brunet manages a glare at the treatment despite his internal panicking. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep you safe, you have my word, my promise.” At the demon’s words, the brooch gleams.

 

His eyes are vividly serious, staring into Izaya’s eyes. “Under no circumstances must you--”

 

“What the fuck’s going on?!”

 

Izaya jumps, swatting Delic’s hands off of him reluctantly. Without contact from the demon, the accessory disappears, not triggered to stay by its wearer. Shizuo’s eyes dart around the trio before halting on the bed.

 

“ _Holy shit,_ ” he exhales out.

 

Celty feels it then, presumes Delic does too. Those eyes in the air ceasing their watch on them. The supernatural duo turn their head to the bed in a second, Izaya joining the three in their watch.

 

A different stain begins bubbling over, the scarlet hand forming for a second attempt. It wasted less time this effort, smacking down onto the sheets and grasping to pull itself out. Izaya’s all too familiar with the sense of dread pooling in his stomach. Their arms are slimmer than Shizuo’s and the question of who it’ll be a mockery of nags at his mind. When the head begins to rise, the vicious red oozing and fading away to other colors, Izaya and Shizuo both feel their guts twist for different reasons. Everyone in the room knows the face of Izaya Orihara when they see it.

 

“ _Nuh-uh, two is too fucking many,_ ” Shizuo suddenly says. No one is quite sure if he means demons or Izayas.

 

“ _Destroy it!_ ” Izaya commands Delic, hand tugging his sleeve. The blond demon remains still, glaring as he watches the other continue rising from the portal. Delic knows that it’s only a waste of his energy to constantly fight it from appearing.

 

The brunet demon giggles, smirk sharp and eyes the same shockingly orchid pink shade as Delic’s. Shizuo grits his teeth on instinct at the noise. “Silly human, Dēloun couldn’t destroy me if they wanted to and _trust me_ , they _want_ to.” The creature simpers with a coo, their lips pressed out in a ridiculing pout.

 

Feeling the heat, Celty looks over at the blond. Sparks are leaking off of the demon in waves, his eyes glowing with intensity.

 

Psykhê pulls the rest of their body out with ease. It hadn’t bothered with thinking about it’s clothes like Delic had, copying Izaya’s usual style of dress and Delic’s color scheme. Their pants and buttoned up fur coat a stark white, the buttons being the only colored accent with the same bright pink as their eyes. Where Shizuo’s blond hair made all of Delic’s white seem brighter and more inviting, Izaya’s black hair with all of the white on Psykhê contrasted heavily and alluded to something more dangerous.

 

The creature flops down to their stomach on the bed unceremoniously, not bothered by all of the bloodshed. Their feet raise up and swing in the air childishly as one hand props up their face, the other pointing at their audience. “Let’s see. One human, two human, a dullahan. You always were so popular, Dēloun! Why no worshipers this time?”

 

“You’re not wanted here, you should leave before you make another mess.” Delic steps forward, arm rising to half mast to urge Izaya behind him. The brunet steps in place willingly, his fingers gripping some of his white jacket.

 

“ _Nuh-uh,_ ” they mimic from earlier in Izaya’s higher pitch. “Not without you. You’re not wanted here either, y’know.” Psykhê’s smile is vindictive when they say, “You’ve forgotten that those are your messes too.”

 

“You should stop trying to plant things in my head, you know it’ll never work.” There’s a glow emanating from his hand, catching Izaya’s eye. The static pouring off of the demon’s hand has begun to converge in the center of his palm. The blond’s fingers twitch as the energy swirls, taking shape into something.

 

“What’s that saying, Izaya?” Psykhê taps their chin as the brunet’s eyes snap back to them. They roll over onto their back as they make of show of deep thought. “A leopard can’t change their spots?”

 

His jaw clenches. “What’s your purpose here?”

 

“To be with Dēloun, of course!” They chirp, sitting up on their knees on the bed. “We used to be inseparable.”

 

“ _Past tense,_ ” Delic says.

 

“Such a shame, right?”

 

“ _No._ ” Delic’s hand tightly grips the light in his hand as it forms into a stick shape.

 

“Well _I_ miss it.”

 

“You can’t miss what you don’t remember.”  
  
“ _I_ remember.”

 

“ _You’re lying._ ” Delic’s lip rises in anger, jaw set and teeth grit.

 

Psykhê scoots to the edge of the bed, hopping off to stand. Their eyes look sincere and disappointed. “You’re getting weak with all of this human nonsense. I’m _not_. I remember how I felt.”

 

There’s a sudden flash of white light, both Izaya and Shizuo have to jerk their heads away from the brightness. Celty watches, unaffected, as Delic charges Psykhê like a bolt of lightning. The smaller demon hits the wall behind the bed with a heavy _thud_. The beam of light in the blond’s hand gleams away to the form of a pole-arm. Delic tightly grips the staff with both hands, the consistent force turning his knuckles white. The head of the platinum and gold partisan is impaled in the brunet’s gut, Psykhê’s wound bloodlessly clean.

 

“ _Go ahead_ ,” Delic says, eyes ablaze. Even with the weapon’s length, they’re still inches apart. “ _Try it._ ”

 

Psykhê smiles, wide and carnally, head slightly down-turned from the impact. Their eyes lock on each other, mirroring one another’s wildness.

 

“Delic,” Izaya steps forward, ready to chastise the demon for urging the other on. Both Celty and Shizuo grab his arms.

 

“We should be getting out of here while they’re preoccupied,” Shizuo whispers and Celty nods.

 

White smog bleeds from Psykhê’s wound, pouring out and curling up Delic’s weapon with purpose. “Dēloun,” they keen as the fog gathers around the other demon. One of their hands reach out, cupping his cheek. “How I miss this energy being mine.”

 

The blond stands unyielding amidst the white, body glowing with electricity like a lighthouse in the mist. The charges rolling off of his body crackle sharply, cutting through the haze like knives to butter. The duo have begun to look like a cloud during a thunderstorm. Natural or not, the trio watching don’t want to be part of the incoming disaster.

 

Delic retracts slowly, pulling out the partisan and releasing one of his hands on the pole. He holds it upright, bringing the bottom down on the bed hard enough to rock the mattress. The static around his body bursts outwards in that moment, vanquishing all of the surrounding smog. Without the blade in place, the other demon’s wound heals instantly.

 

“That was pathetic, show me what you’re really planning.” The brunet laughs vivaciously in response, keeling over minutely.

 

Izaya’s socks make a soft sliding sound against the wooden floorboards as Shizuo and Celty drag him out. He doesn’t really want to leave the demon duo despite the serious danger he’s in. This thing was inside of his head, inside of _him_ , and now it had the audacity to wear his face. He knows that he can’t fight it and has no hopes to by himself, but if Dēloun’s energy and power was siphoned off of Izaya, then maybe the informant can provide something to him to send that damned thing back.

 

Psykhê disappears in an instant. Delic’s eyes widen and his head turns to follow where he senses the other demon.

 

Fingers pinch into Izaya’s face, chin locked in the demon’s hand. The brunet hovers in the air in front of Izaya, looking down at the other. “Cute face,” they whistle, “in human standards.” Izaya glares openly into the other’s eyes until his eyelids begin to feel heavy. His breathing grows shorter, the air bogging down. “No wonder Dēloun's smitten.”

 

Celty’s body is a mess with the demon so close, her arm releasing the informant without her permission. The air around the creature is cloying and suffocating and her gut is screeching for her to _back up, back up, back up!_ Shizuo’s none the better as Izaya seems to decompress with weightlessness, leaning into him as he tips backwards, unable to keep himself upright. He slips an arm under one of Izaya’s arms and across his chest easily as the demon releases his face. The brunet looks dazedly into the air, reddish brown irises rimmed with neon pink.

 

“ _You can’t think that I’m just going to let you do that,_ _Psykhê!_ ” The demon floats away with a spin as Delic flashes forward.

 

They giggle maniacally, “You _had_ to know that I would!”

 

“O-Oi, Izaya.” Shizuo slaps his cheek repeatedly, trying to be mindful of his force. “Snap outta it.”

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya puffs questioningly, leaning into the blond’s chest. His head lolls, looking up at the man holding him. “ _Oh_ , Shizu-chan.” Shizuo’s hand recoils from his face at the _purr_.

 

“Tell me what it’s doing to you.”

 

The brunet looks up at him, bewitched with amorousness. His hand rises to stroke the blond’s cheek, fingers playing with a few strands of blond hair that frames his face. Shizuo’s gut is churning with a tarry feeling, his lips pressing in a grimace.

 

“H-Hey--”

 

“Shizu-chan should take me, hm?”

 

“ _What?_ ” He sputters, appalled. Izaya’s other hand has begun drawing patterns on Shizuo’s chest with his fingertips.

 

Delic’s hands appear, gripping Izaya’s shoulders tightly and spinning him around, out of the other blond’s hold. “Sorry about this, Gorgeous,” is all he says before sparks fissure from his hands. Izaya cries out in pain as he’s electrocuted. As quickly as it starts, it stops, and he crumbles to the floor without anyone to catch him.

 

Izaya sits up slowly, his body tingling all over with aftershocks. He inhales deeply, taking in as much fresh air as his lungs can hold. His eyes have gone wide, boring holes into the floor. Before he can manage to regulate his breathing, he lurches forward with a gag, one hand shooting from the floor to cover his mouth. There’s nothing in his stomach but raw disgust and acid.

 

He couldn’t control himself, but he felt like he could? Did it make him act on his worst desires? He’s utterly _humiliated_.

 

Delic’s mouth opens, about to give orders to Celty and hopefully snap her out of some of her fear, when he feels Psykhê materialize close by again. _Too_ close.

 

The smooth pad of a finger presses against Shizuo’s chin, turning his head effortlessly as if he wasn’t offering it resistance. Psykhê’s other hand is flat on the blond’s shoulder, leaning his head against it. His eyes are a glow with delight as Shizuo’s forced to meet his gaze.

 

“Hey there, Handsome,” the demon purrs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big updates for big boys.
> 
> A rejected idea I had was for Psyche to possess Izaya's body a bit before forming himself to get under Delic's skin. Originally, that was going to be Psyche's reveal as a part in the story, long before he actually fully came out. Obviously, better ideas came along!
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	16. He Tastes Like You, Only Sweeter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo is Psykhê's doll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your warning that this chapter contains degrees of mental torture in ways of free will being overwritten and threats of torture.

Trapped in Psykhê's gaze, Shizuo’s vision turns an empty white. The world around him is suddenly a sterile void. He can’t see anything past the creature retaining their color in front of him and he can’t look away despite how heavy his eyelids are feeling now. He urges his head to shake away the spell, for his fingers to curl into a fist and to react as he’s used to with Izaya’s face so close, but he’s frozen in place. He wills his eyes to at the very least blink on his own command, but nothing happens. The demon smiles, closed mouth and wide, stretched lips, as Shizuo’s internal panicking skyrockets. Shizuo’s never felt quite so literally imprisoned by his body.

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya calls out, unheard by the other. He’s halted by Delic as he tries to step forward, he knows that it’s useless to return the blond’s gesture of trying to snap him out of it but he also knows how frightening the experience is. Izaya focuses a glare on the other blond as he commands, “Do something!”

 

Delic’s silent and Izaya then notices the demon’s pink eyes determinedly examining the duo with a narrowed gaze. He knows how to stop whatever the other demon is doing to Shizuo, he must. He must know _everything_ about the creature that claims some sort of prior intimacy with him. Izaya almost misses Delic’s soft voice as he admits, “I cannot keep both of you safe.”

 

Izaya is Delic’s main priority. Psykhê wouldn’t waste his time on the dullahan, so the only other human is their best bet to lead Delic where Psykhê wants him. Unfortunately for them all, it’s Shizuo, the only weakness among them. Dēloun can’t stay without Izaya Orihara’s covenant, Izaya Orihara is in love with Shizuo Heiwajima, and Shizuo Heiwajima has no demon tied to his being for any sort of protection if Dēloun is preoccupied with keeping Izaya Orihara safe. Shizuo’s absolutely fine in the physical sense, Psykhê wouldn’t kill someone so essential to his game, but his physical health isn’t necessarily what’s going to be at risk.

 

Izaya’s correct about Delic knowing exactly what Psykhê’s planning, and the demon also knows that he’s very much at a standstill until Psykhê slips up somewhere. Overexerting himself is what they want. Psykhê can’t break through his defenses, so he’ll aim to tire Delic out as much as possible to get a decent enough blow in, while, in the meantime, leeching more and more energy off of the other without consent. The blond grinds his teeth as he remains poised. Neither of them are patient creatures.

 

“Let’s see… Attractive face; nice jawline. Slim body, strength’s a bonus.” The brunet demon hovers around their captive, eyes eagerly roaming his body like a slice of meat on display. “Not much of an ass though, what a shame.” Izaya glares daggers at the creature, Shizuo wishes he could mimic the action.

 

“Lucky for you,” they say, pressing their chest against Shizuo’s, their fingers rising to cup and stroke his cheeks, “I’m really not that picky.”

 

“Shizu-chan,” Psykhê coos. “Tell me what your favorite thing to do in bed is.”

 

Compelled to answer, Shizuo’s fatigued response is immediate. “Sleep.”

 

Psykhê’s eyes go wide like an owl’s, shoulders perking up in disbelief and pressing some of their hood’s fur against their face, making them appear like a ruffled bird. Delic’s laugh is poorly stifled and Izaya nudges him hard in the stomach with his elbow.

 

“You’re wasting your time with him, Psykhê. Shizuo’s as straight-forward and honest as they come.”

 

“Is that really so,” they say, eyes narrowing on the human.

 

“Well,” Psykhê drawls, “Every human has _something_ to hide.” Izaya opens his mouth to say _no, Shizuo doesn’t_ when the demon’s hand rises with a swirling flourish, all of their fingers stretching out. Pink fog gathers and clouds above the blond’s head, splitting apart rapidly and morphing in to thin stick shapes. The brightly colored needles fully appear in seconds, floating absently and adjusting their positions above his skull to where Psykhê wants them. Izaya jerks back in place, his hand covering his mouth as his stomach churns roughly. His other hand grasps the blond’s jacket, Delic’s hold on him released in favor in bringing back his partisan.

 

“Psykhê,” he starts sternly, “You can’t do that.”

 

“Oh!” They chirp as they turn on their heels. “But I can, Dēloun! I don’t have your silly little code!” Psykhê begins to bubbly laugh. “Are _you_ going to stop me?”

 

Delic’s knuckles go white with the grip he has on his pole-arm.

 

Black cuts into Shizuo’s vision, vivid and stark against the pure white, it snakes past his body and to curl around the demon’s neck. Psykhê blinks down at the shadowy mass, hearing the determined tapping of a keypad. The shadows present a phone to him, “[Release Shizuo or _I_ will.]”

 

The demon smiles condescendingly. “You think that you can, Dullahan?” Psykhê wiggles his fingers, prompting the needles to dance like jerky puppets. “What if you mess me up and then poor, cute Shizu-chan is a vegetable for life!”

 

“ _Celty,_ ” Izaya whines desperately as Delic growls out, “ _He’s lying._ ”

 

Psykhê turns, not the least bit scared of the scythe at their neck, and raises their hands to Shizuo’s face. Celty’s grip on her weapon tightens. The demon draws Shizuo’s chin to look down at him again. “Shizu-chan,” Psykhê commands in a cottony soft voice, “Walk forward until you pass through the Dullahan’s scythe.”

 

Psykhê disappears instantaneously with a dispersing fume of fog in front of the blond’s pink rimmed eyes. Out of view, the needles disappear with their owner. Shizuo’s head rises to look at the black blade just close enough to be in his scope of vision, his body walking forward automatically. Their height difference means that it’ll cut lower than his neck, but cut all the same.

 

Celty jolts, de-solidifying her shadows so that her bewitched friend is unharmed as he’s forced to comply. Before she or Izaya can step forward, the demon is back, hovering behind the blond.

 

Psykhê curls their arms around Shizuo’s neck as if they’re being piggybacked instead of lazily floating. “Hey, hey, Shizu-chan,” they pester with twinkling eyes. “Do you like being slashed up? Cut to ribbons? Stabbed and skewered?”

 

The blond answers whether he wants to or not. “No.”

 

“Really,” Psykhê coos with faux surprise.

 

Spelled, Shizuo takes it as a legitimate question. “Yes.”

 

“So what really gets your blood hot, hm?”

 

“Anger.”

 

Psykhê’s groan is aggressively loud, burying their face in Shizuo’s shoulder and punching the blond’s chest with a fist. “You are _the worst_ human with innuendo that I’ve ever dealt with!”

 

Psykhê huffs out a large breath as their head rises. Their fingers begin spider-walking up Shizuo’s chest to cup and turn his face towards their own, a few mere centimeters away on his shoulder. Their smile curves like a serpent’s, voice sweet and poisonous “You don’t want to die before you outlive your usefulness to me, right?”

 

“I--”  
  
“You don’t!” Psykhê interjects, with wide innocent eyes.

 

“I don’t.” Shizuo replies without a choice, dread overflowing in his stomach as the demon’s expression grows more gleefully malicious by the second. He’s a slave to its whims and he’s never been more terrified in his life. He doubts that he could even vomit to purge some of it. The list of things that this creature could force him to do is almost limitless.

 

Izaya feels too sick to look on anymore, his eyes down and staring fixedly at the material of Delic’s jacket. He can’t watch the demon with his face torture Shizuo. His hand gripes the blond’s clothes tighter, shaking with force and fear. He manages to speak, voice not able to rise above a whisper. “Whatever you need to take that thing out, I’ll give you.”

 

Delic’s eyes slide off of the duo to Izaya for the briefest moment to assess the man hiding behind him. “I don’t need anything from you.” He says, voice even.

 

“I’m offering you power, Dēloun.”

 

The blond’s eyes flash, the pink neonizing at the mention of his name. “So is Psykhê,” is his flat retort.

 

“You can’t kill it,” Izaya realizes breathlessly, mouth moving more than actually speaking.

 

“No. Psykhê and I are perfectly matched. We only negate each other’s magic.”

 

“Do you have a plan to save Shizu-chan at least?”

 

Delic stays quiet for longer than Izaya feels comfortable with. He tugs the blond’s sleeve, looking into his eyes as they eclipse with the bold color. In Izaya’s peripheral vision, the partisan gleams with sparks charging off of it.

 

“When we met, I realized you were weak. Weaker than any of those that had summoned me before.” Izaya’s eyes rise to glare at the demon, back to staring ahead with resolution on his pressing lips. “Despite being aware of the power imbalance, you bit back with what little you had to assert yourself.”

 

“I really like you, Izaya.” Delic says sincerely, turning to look at the brunet as he professes his adoration. Izaya gazes back, unable to read the demon’s expression apart from his honesty. “Perhaps if we had become friends, Psykhê’s efforts would have been in vain.”

 

Psykhê floats around to press their chest against Shizuo’s again, their palms flat on his collarbone. Their pupils are being swallowed up by the color of their irises. Shizuo realizes that they’re probably readying to do something to him that he has no hopes of stopping or fighting back against again.

 

“I’m going to give you something _really_ special, okay?” Psykhê breathes against Shizuo’s lips as he grows closer and closer, and Shizuo can’t stop himself from nodding and remaining still. His chest feels reached into, his insides groped without his consent, and hands grasping and choking his lungs with razor sharp nails piercing into the soft organs. He can’t close his eyes to fight the anticipation. When the demon’s soft lips press against his own with the mockery of a gentle embrace, Shizuo feels something inside of his body burst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter taking so long to come into fruition! Life has been getting the better of me recently and the nature of the subject matter in this chapter can be emotionally taxing as well, especially when I'm already in a poor place myself. As always, I hope the wait has been worth it.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	17. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psykhê and Dēloun have fun with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual harassment and humiliation within this chapter.
> 
> (Recommended listening: Radioactive - Marina & The Diamonds)

Psykhê’s soft, moist lips glide against Shizuo’s own as the creature kisses him tenderly. Their smooth fingertips press into his jawline to tilt his head one way as their goes in the opposite. Psykhê deepens the kiss, their tongue slinking in to roam and probe around his mouth. Unable to fight back and bite the intrusion, Shizuo’s begun to feel violated. The intimate act he’d reserve for someone he dearly cares for is being forced out of him and changed into something vile and repugnant. His insides are vanishing, chest growing hollower by the second, and his skin is going cold and clammy. If it were not for the panic keeping his heart-rate up, it might have started to slow to a halt.

 

Izaya feels the bile clawing up into his throat from his stomach and his heart stuttering with seizurous jumps. He can’t watch this anymore; he’s _disgusted_ , he’s _hurt_ , he _can’t help_. The brunet covers his mouth tightly with his hand, blinking away forming tears. He inhales sharply and it’s only then that Izaya realizes that the air is so thin that he cannot breathe. Instinctively, he turns to look at the demon by his side.

 

Delic looks as he did in the witches’ shop just yesterday. Sclera and pupils absent in his glowing, fully orchid eyes, his hair and clothes float at the ends as gravity disappears around him. The electricity that charges off of his body isn’t zapping out into the air this time, the sparks rapidly charging around his body in a swirling storm. Izaya swallows thickly and tries to find his voice to speak. “Dēloun?” The lightning coating the demon like a second skin brightens in intensity with the small murmur.

 

Celty’s almost backed up against another wall to put distance between her and the demon with Shizuo in it’s grasp. She can see it clearly, the faint pink mist spilling out of that abhorrent thing. The smog rolls around the duo, cocooning her friend entirely. The air close to them feels constrictingly wet and her lungs, unnecessary for her survival or not, tighten near it. She has no idea what to do to help. Her threat had backfired and, with it’s hostage at it’s whims, she fears he’ll be hurt by her as well. But she can’t just sit and watch _this_ , she _has_ to do something! What on earth is there for her to do though? Is she really stuck watching this violation of her friend until he’s snapped out of it for her to swoop in?

 

Psykhê pulls away after a few more pecks and nibbles on their toy’s lips. A thread of saliva stretches between the two as they part, the demon giddily leaning back in to lick it up. Shizuo’s body is trembling from the cold, chills deep-rooting themselves into his skin and bones. He’s terrified that he might be hard from the damned thing’s ministrations, but he can’t look down and he can’t feel any of the blood pumping through his veins anymore.

 

“On your knees,” Psykhê commands and the blond does as he’s told like a trained dog.

 

“This is so much fun, Dēloun! I totally understand why you want to play around with humans all the time!” They hop and clap their hands together in amusement before tightly threading some of their fingers into Shizuo’s hair and _tugging_. “Mine always break so quickly and then they’re no fun! But yours, yours last _so long_! It’s not fair!”

 

Psykhê turns to fully look at their other half now, finally noticing the aura around him. “Why’re you so angry? I just said I understood you! Geez!” The demon swings the arm with their fingers latched in Shizuo’s hair, shaking him around like a rag-doll before untwining their fingers with a throw, discarding him to the floor.

 

“What if I made a deal with you?” Psykhê takes a few steps towards the still silent Delic. “Why don’t you bring that human you like back with us! I promise not to touch him unless you allow me to! He can serve you for all eternity!” Psykhê’s voice deepens with a snicker, “Or until you get bored of him.”

 

The demon takes another step and disappears with fume of smoke. Celty and Izaya panic in sync, frantically looking around the room until it reappears. The brunet yelps as phantom hands violently shove him forward. He stumbles and catches himself before the hands are back, this time gripping his shoulders, and twisting him around to look back at the still blond demon.

 

“You always did have a soft spot for the dainty, feminine males. Whatever satisfies you, right?” Psykhê shakes Izaya in place. He grits his teeth, the thing hasn’t tried to lock gazes with him yet but he’s still preparing himself, keeping his eyes trained at Delic’s legs and towards the floor. Their fingers rub into his shoulders, sending disgusted shivers down his back. Izaya’s skin is beginning to feel damp and then, suddenly, he feels a freezing cold draft. His legs press together for warmth, the bare skin touching and startling him enough to gaze down at himself.

 

Izaya’s clothes are _gone_. _Replaced_ with _this_ , _this humiliating_ _get-up_ _!_

 

It’s a black sheer babydoll with black fur hemming and matching coat. It’s barely long enough to go past the middle of his thighs and every inch of his skin is on display through the thin black sheer. The only thing remotely covered is his crotch in silk panties. They’re a bit too tight, hugging his ass up and pressing his cock against his skin and the thin material. It’s absolutely _humiliating_. He’s _no one’s_ fucking sex toy!

 

There’s a kick, square against his back, and Izaya falls forwards, sprawling on the floor.

 

“Doesn’t he look _so good_ there at your feet like that, Dēloun?” Psykhê’s perky voice says.

 

Izaya scrambles up, trying in spite to cover himself. The head of the partisan comes into his vision, pressing the tip under his chin to tilt his head up. “D-Delic?” Fear is multiplying in his gut, settling thicker and thicker with the silence from the blond. He’s can’t read his eyes, they don’t even appear to be _eyes_ anymore, just glowing orbs of bright color.

 

“You’re right,” Delic finally says. “He does look good.”

 

Psykhê coos happily, coming closer and bringing another wave of chills with them. The spearhead lowers but doesn’t retract. Izaya swallows some dread as it inches towards his neck. The tip presses against his skin, but he doesn’t feel it, the choker re-materializing and the point making a faint _tap_ against the brooch. It sparks violently at the connection, Izaya can even feel some shocking tingles running down his spine.

 

“I knew you’d come around, Dēloun!” Psykhê springs forward, coiling their arms around his neck and bouncing on their feet. “I’ve been _uhnk!_ ”

 

Izaya looks up, his eyes stinging from the bright flash of light, at the hole on the demon’s stomach. He can see straight through to where Delic’s fingers are, poised and pressed together where they must’ve touched the other demon to spear the bolt through. Psykhê’s wound begins restitching itself back together immediately. The damage is only temporary, but it’s enough to help ease some of Izaya’s frenzied thoughts about what the hell’s going on with his demon.

 

“Why’re you being so cruel to me,” Psykhê pleas, their eyes going wide with sadness. “I’m trying to make you happy!”

 

“Then leave me alone and go back home,” he says evenly.

 

“But I want us to be together again!” Their hands rise to cup and stroke the blond’s cheeks. “I want you to remember how amazing it felt to be us!”

 

“Do you want to know what _I_ remember?” Delic’s voice lowers, his lips curling and teeth showing as anger spills out with his words. “ _Pain_. Agonizing and searing _pain_. Feeling _cut_ straight down the middle, split in half.”

 

“I _want_ to scream.” His voice breaks into a snarl, “I _used_ to scream.”

 

“Then, after the pain ebbs away, I’m left with only my confusion.” Delic leans his head down, closer to Psykhê’s and forcing their hands off of him. His eyes narrow as he continues. “What am I? Who am I? I don’t know and I can never know, because I can’t find out about something that _no longer exists_ , Psykhê.”

 

“I’m happy for you. I really am. You’re happy to make up whatever and live with that, but I didn’t get any of those parts.”

 

The blond straightens his posture, flexing his fingers apart from the closed wound and drawing his partisan away from Izaya on the floor. The bottom of the staff taps on to the floor, electricity fissuring off of it. Stray bolts singe against Psykhê’s shoes when they meet, smoke drifting up. Izaya decides that now is the best time for him to get away from the two of them. Psykhê don’t seem to notice or care about Izaya or his shoes, eyes still intent on their other.

 

“Every time you chase me like this, you make me feel all of that all over again. I know that you don’t care, and to tell you the truth...” Delic’s grip tightens on the partisan. A wide grin spreads across his face, savage and merciless. “I _really love_ hurting you back.”

 

Izaya muffles a shriek with his hand as lightning strikes down from the ceiling, hitting them both with a massive beam. A loud roar of thunder follows unnaturally quickly, stampeding through the room. The brunet stops to cover his ears for a moment before making it to Shizuo and Celty. The dullahan is already checking on him, the blond totally unresponsive to her hands monitoring his vitals.

 

“[His body temperature is well below normal. We have to get that spell off of him.]” Her shadows don’t carry warmth, but forming a blanket is the least she can do for him. Hastily, she creates and hands a second to the informant. He murmurs his thanks, pulling the faux cloth around his body to cover himself. The shadow brushes the choker as he wraps it around his shoulders, the brooch spitting violent sparks in response to the touch and dissipating the blanket entirely. Too caught up with everything else, Izaya failed to noticed that the accessory hadn’t stopped rippling with static charges since being touched by the partisan.

 

The brunet looks over at the two demons for a sign, but the two are preoccupied with each other and the light is far too bright for Izaya to squint at for more than a short moment. All that he can make out is Delic’s spear through Psykhê’s gut and a row of Psykhê’s needles stabbed into Delic’s arm, blood seeping through the white coat and down Delic’s arm to drip onto the wooden floor.

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya starts to say. He shakes his head dismissively at the blond. “You won’t care if this hurts.”

 

Izaya grabs one of his wrists, lifting Shizuo’s hand up to touch his fingers to the brooch. Electricity jolts out and into his skin, the blond gasps desperately and jerks as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

 

“ _Fuck._ ” The rimming around his eyes disappears and his body is allowed to limp, tipping forward towards the floor. Both Izaya and Celty grab his shoulders to keep him upright and help him sit on his ass. His knees are fiercely aching from the prolonged position and his body won’t stop shaking with terrible tremors, but he’s _free_.

 

“How do you feel, Shizu-chan?”

 

“ _Fucking violated,_ _what_ _the fuck else am I supposed to feel?!_ ” Shizuo’s voice is loud, angry, and hysterical, with every right to be as such. “ _What the fuck are you wearing?!_ ”

 

Celty’s shoulders droop with relief as Izaya’s lips twitch with a small smile. The brunet opens his mouth to speak but then the sudden silence in the room pierces his attention. His head turns to see only one of the two demons standing in his living room.

 

“Psykhê,” Delic sings, his voice a sweet poisoned honey. “You know that wherever you go, I’ll find you.”

 

His head slowly roams around the room, looking in every direction attentively. Fog has pooled onto the ceiling, thick and dense like heavy rainclouds. The toothy grin on Delic’s face is going manic and causing some worry to stir in Izaya’s stomach. The blond demon has been bleeding profusely, a number of closed stab wounds littering his arms, legs, and chest and painting his now tattered white attire red. His posture and movements are still strong, coiled tight and ready for a reactionary movement.

 

“If you don’t show yourself, I’ll have to force you to.” Somehow his smile splits wider as he taps the bottom of his partisan to the floor in front of him, centering it to himself. It remains standing as he releases his hold on it, splaying his arms out and open on either side of it. His hands are upturned, all ten fingers apart and tips curled upwards.

 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Psykhê’s voice comes from nowhere _and_ everywhere, oozing with anxious surprise at Delic’s actions.

 

“If it means killing you with me? _Gladly._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choker? Check. Lingerie? Check. All on while on his knees? Check. Whelp, I've met my fetish quota for Izaya in this longfic. Writing this chapter made me feel utterly alive! (And like a pervert.)
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	18. Canary Rain-Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delic lashes out at Psykhê.

The clouds of fog nestled on the ceiling sporadically flash with light, booms of thunder following the brightness and sending the noise slamming around the walls. Psykhê’s startled noise is almost eclipsed, quickly devoured by the voracious brewing storm.

 

“D-Dēloun, what if you kill your precious human’s little lover on accident?” They try to reason. “Poor Izaya will be crushed!”

 

Izaya bristles as Delic ignores the attempt to get a rise out of him, keeping himself concentrated. Shizuo won’t take Psykhê seriously, he hopes. Why on earth would he after everything the demon has done to him? He can’t allow himself to be concerned with _that_ , he has to worry if Delic actually _will_ kill Shizuo by accident during his fit. If Psykhê is scared of whatever Delic is about to do, then Izaya should be petrified. Then again, he can’t trust the other demon.

 

A puddle of blood at the demon’s feet boils, bubbles popping with snaps upon contact with the electricity that travels around his body. The displaced air grinds against the force surrounding Delic, sending it swirling around his person visibly. His hair whips with the coarse wind generated, blond ends jaggedly framing his sharp face and highlighting the bright shade of his glowing eyes. Izaya’s mind once again connects his demon’s neon color scheme with that of a toxic plant or poisonous creature, freely advertising their danger for those foolish enough to approach.

 

Izaya can’t feel the magic violently spinning in the air, nor can Shizuo, but the dullahan and other demon can. Celty can feel where the two’s magic clashes. The raw piercing heat emanating off of one, the constricting humidity desperately grasping out from off of the other hidden in the fog. Remembering what had occurred last time Delic had displayed such power, she hurriedly composes a message to the duo alongside of her.

 

“[We should get under the dining table.]” Celty’s not certain if her shadows could protect them under magical fire and it’s best not to test that out immediately if they can use something else.

 

Shizuo nods and makes a noise of agreement. He moves with her before noticing Izaya, still and watching the scene unfold with fascination and fear. The brunet’s snapped out of it with a harsh tug on his wrist towards relative safety.

 

“Can you make something for him to wear or something?” Shizuo’s eyes roam Izaya’s displayed flesh momentarily before he can force them elsewhere. Something sitting in the pit of his stomach molds together and solidifies, making him feel disgusting for even looking. Izaya flushes under the short but none the less focused gaze.

 

“[I tried. Delic’s charmed Izaya’s choker so we could unspell you, but it wiped out my own shadows as well when they touched.]”

 

“Choker? _Wait_ , so it cured _me_ but it can’t fix _that?_ ” The blond jabs a finger over at the other man.

 

Unbeknownst, Shizuo makes a good point and the brunet runs his fingers over the brooch. The accessory sparks, but nothing comes of it, even when he presses the sleeve of the sheer coat to it. Is it only counteractive to certain magics? That doesn’t make much sense, Celty’s shadows weren’t a threat but it zapped the blanket into nonexistence. Was it only good for two uses? Izaya loathes being left in the dark with this mess, just as much as he loathes being dressed in _this mess_. Shizuo can’t see the choker, but now it’s the least humiliating adornment forced onto him.

 

A beam of bright golden light emits from the spearhead of the partisan, piercing through the pink clouds and connecting to the ceiling. The floor of the apartment shakes with a raucous thundering, prompting the trio under cover to brace themselves against the floor and the legs of the table.

 

“ _Dēloun_ ,” Psykhê warns with apprehension. Izaya and Shizuo can only watch for a clipped thirty seconds as the demon makes the dreadful mistake of showing themselves. The brunet demon materializes on the opposing side of the room from their counterpart and, within a split second, Delic’s brought his hands together with a firm clap. Bolts of lightning strike down from the ceiling in a furious downpour, flooding the apartment with blinding light. Psykhê dodges some, their body wispy with fog, but can’t escape all of the frenzied fire. The brunet cries out in vibrant agony with each and every bolt that spears through their body. Celty realizes as the demon jerks to a stop after a series of substantial blows, that the seemingly unconcentrated fire was to zone Psykhê into place for an endless stream of strikes.

 

“C’mon Psykhê,” Delic taunts over the screams. His voice pours out layered and resonating, a second voice with a lower baritone and serrated edge speaking in time with the one the trio’s grown accustom to. “Isn’t this what you wanted? My attention, my energy? You can have as much as you want!”

 

Psykhê crumples to the floor, forced down from the numerous strikes to their body. Delic’s hands finally part as his other lays on the ground, amassed with holes. His fingers wrap around the partisan again, using it to lean some of his weight onto as his body slumps forward. The blond inhales deeply and shakily, suddenly gagging and spitting out a hefty amount of blood onto the floor. Delic gathers himself quickly, despite the strain on his human body, and walks towards to where Psykhê’s sprawled on the floor.

 

The holes littering Psykhê’s body are closing rapidly, recovering without issue. Delic stands above them, feet on either side of their hips, waiting patiently until the brunet’s chest has reformed. Psykhê gazes back idly as they breathe, eyes teary and pained. Both of them know that that attack wasn’t much for the downed demon to take compared to what it took from the other. Delic presses the spearhead of his weapon against Psykhê’s flesh, the gleaming metal begging to dive through to meet their heart.

 

“Look at you.” Psykhê’s voice is monotonous and bored, their face sneering up from their corpse-like position. “You’re so pathetic now.”

 

Delic rambunctiously laughs at their sheer audacity, driving his spear forward and into their body. Psykhê bursts with an enormous fume of fog. The pink haze abundantly pours out from where they had been lying in excessive amounts. It’s expeditiously filling up the large living room. The trio jolt out from under the table before they’re all engulfed on their knees, but it does very little to stop them from being swallowed whole by the fog as it continues to flood the room.

 

Izaya turns around after rising, finding no one behind him. His heart hammers heavily with anxiety and his mind is jittering with panic. The warmth phantoming on his back where Shizuo had pushed him up is disappearing and the last noise he had heard was the table overturning with a clatter before the suffocating silence. His eyes bounce around frantically, only able to find some faint crackling light among the thick, endless fog. Being separated from the others means that he’s in an extreme amount of danger. Izaya can only hope that Shizuo and Celty are together and that the distant electricity truly is Delic and not an illusion luring him into a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High possibility of sin next chapter. If everything goes according to my notes, this story is nearing it's end. I suppose if you're worried about that, you can feel better in knowing I'll probably do spin-off oneshots for the universe as well as move on to one of my other story ideas that I'm itching to get started on.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	19. A Little Bit of Spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo finds Izaya in the fog before Izaya finds Delic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you've been saving for his mattress, Love?)

“Izaya! Celty!” Shizuo calls out, turning in circles.

 

The whiteness obscuring everything in his vision is back, his heart speedily jumping up with panic. Shizuo’s skin still crawls in all of the places that thing touched him. The memory is still so fresh that it’s alive and knotting itself in his stomach. But he’s in total control of himself, he shouldn’t be feeling afraid, he’s just in this fucking illusionary _bullshit_ again. He can last in this until it ends as long as he’s in control of himself and he can fight back. He’s got to make an effort to find the others to keep his mind focused. Who the fuck knows what that thing could be doing to Izaya in the meantime.

 

Shizuo gazes around the mist, picking a direction at random to head in. Maybe if he keeps yelling the others will hear him and come find him as well.

 

* * *

 

Izaya stops in his tracks when he feels the wet squish of sticky fluid underneath his foot. Looking down, his eyes meet a large puddle of blood on the pure white floor. If he’s found this, then he might actually be heading towards Delic. It feels real enough under his bare foot, but he can’t dismiss the idea of it being fake nonetheless.

 

Izaya retracts his foot, smearing the blood off of his skin and onto the floor. The blood drags red lines on the white flooring. The red smear is quickly swallowed away by the fog, making it disappear as if it never existed there on the floor where Izaya’s wooden panel flooring should be. The puddle remains as if untouched, a bold scarlet against the clinical lifelessness of the misty void. It shouldn’t be as comforting to the brunet as it is.

 

“Dēloun,” Izaya calmly recites. The sparks off into the distance glow brighter as his brooch shines with momentary light. The accessory isn’t bright enough to see, pressed so closely against his neck, but it emits a gentle surge of warmth. Izaya isn’t sure if he’s sending his own energy to his demon every time he says their name, but he can be fairly certain that it is giving Delic something to use against that thing.

 

Psykhê had called Delic out on using so much of his energy that he’d likely kill himself in the process. If that happens, will Psykhê really disappear with him? What happens to Izaya then? Will the choker just disappear, the covenant going null and voided? After everything the demon had done to try and stay in the human realm, he’d really just off himself for the sake of taking that thing with him? That bastard still owed him for all of the shit he put Izaya through. He’ll be damned if he lets Delic off scot-free.

 

* * *

 

Shizuo feels like he’s been walking and yelling for twenty minutes before he finally spots something in the distance. He figured that he’d find Celty first, considering how easy she’d be to see in all black against faint pink and solid white, but it’s the brunet’s form he recognizes.

 

“Izaya!”

 

The other man turns, face full of surprise, before running to meet him halfway. “Shizu-chan, thank goodness. I was positive that that thing was going to keep everyone separated.”

 

“Yeah. You okay? It try anything on you?”

 

The brunet shakes his head as Shizuo’s eyes scrutinize him. Izaya looks physically okay, his posture open and unguarded. His hair’s been mused lightly and he’s still in that skimpy nightmare, choker around his neck like an expensive dog collar and everything.

 

“I’m alright. I feel better now that I’m with you.” His hand gently presses against Shizuo’s arm in search of physical reassurance and comfort.

 

The blond’s eyes narrow, gaze dropping from the other man’s face and down at the contact. “Ahuh… Hey, Izaya?”

 

“Yes, Shizu-chan?”

 

Shizuo jerks his arm back, shaking off Izaya’s touch, then forward with his other arm. Both of his hands reach out and grip the brunet’s neck.

 

“S-Shizu-chan?” Izaya stutters, eyes blown wide with fear, as his fingers apply more pressure and coil tighter against the brunet’s neck. Worry over snapping Izaya’s neck claws at his stomach lining as he adds just a bit more strength. The other man squirms in his hold, gasping and choking loudly before bursting with a fume of pink smog.

 

“ _Fucker,_ ” Shizuo curses vehemently. He’s not going to be fooled so damn easily. Especially when they mess up an obvious detail like jewelry he shouldn’t be able to see in the first place. “C’mon, was that the best you’ve got?! I’m fucking wise to your tricks!”

 

A body connects to his side, tightly wrapping their arms around his waist in a hug. “Shizu-chan wants my best?” A second Izaya leans over his shoulder to talk into his ear, “Shizu-chan should know better than to ask that.”

 

Shizuo’s eyes jerk back and forth between the two illusions with a growl. He shakes them off easily enough and they’re nothing more than smoke again with a simple strike to each face. There’s a giggle floating around the air as he looks around, body tightening in preparation for a fight.

 

Hands suddenly latch onto his pants’ legs, tugging them in effort to bring him down. He kicks some, but there’s more and more rising out of the floor by the second, all desperate to grab hold of him. Distracted by the limbs, Shizuo’s left himself open for more illusions to cling to his body. One Izaya purrs in his ear, latched onto his side. A second Izaya wraps their arms around him from behind, stroking meaningless shapes and patterns onto his chest. The third Izaya has clung to his leg, their face far too close to his crotch for his comfort.

 

“Come join us, Shizu-chan.” The fourth against his chest shamelessly coos, petting his clavicle and stroking his face. “We’ll make you feel _so good._ ”

 

“You can do whatever you want, we won’t mind,” the second assures simperingly.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to see us on our back, crying out for your touch?” The first moans into his ear, grinding against his side.

 

The third Izaya unwraps an arm to cup his crotch with their hand, it groping in rhythm with their face rubbing against his thigh. Shizuo inhales sharply, face already flushed from their combined efforts. His legs are sinking into the floor more and more by the second, but his senses are flooding and his mind is too preoccupied to notice. Two more illusionary Izaya have appeared, latching onto both of his arms.

 

“Maybe the thought of all of us at your mercy is too daunting for you,” one of the new ones teases. “Would you want to watch us first?”

 

There’s a giggling from around his person, but, with the flock of Izayas surrounding him, Shizuo has no idea which ones the noises are coming from. The third’s dry-humping against his leg while grinding their palm against his crotch and there’s two moaning in both of his ears. The fourth uses their fingers to bring his head forward to watch two of the new illusions kiss. Somehow the slick noises of their lips are coming in clear over the moans drowning his hearing.

 

“Anything I want?” He breathes out as fingers trail down his jawline.

 

“Mhmm. We just want to love you, Shizu-chan.”

 

Shizuo twists his head, biting down on their fingers as they rise to stroke his cheek again. The illusion cries out in pain before bursting. He jerks his right arm, slamming one illusion into another and dispersing them both. With his dominant arm free, swinging punches at the rest is a breeze.

 

“Stupid human!” One of the two clinging to his legs yells. “Don’t you want your final moments to be pleasurable?!”

 

“If you think that I’m going down with anything short of a fight, then you’re thinking less of me than the original Izaya!” Shizuo grabs the wrist of the one sexually harassing him and squeezes til the fake bones snap between his fingers and the creation disappears. Finally noticing that his knees are sinking into the floor and his legs are viced still by something, the blond roars. Fingers are bent and twisted this way and that, some torn in two like ripped halves of paper. They pop back into place as quickly as Shizuo tears them away, tugging him down with renewed effort. He places his hands on either side of the floor to begin pulling himself free when two arms wrap around his torso.

 

The blond twists with a guttural growl and bared teeth, coming face to face with a yellow motorcycle helmet. Celty’s shadows encircle Shizuo’s body, slicing through all of the limbs simultaneously. While they’re busy regenerating back, Shizuo’s pulled free. Sensing that the blond’s gone, the mass of hands fold, molding back down into the flooring.

 

“ _Shit._ Thanks.”

 

“[Are you okay? Did it do anything else to you?]”

 

“Y-Yeah. No, I’m fine.” The blond runs some fingers through his hair soothing as he tries to calm his breathing down. His blood is pumping, racing through his veins in directions it really doesn’t need to be heading in right now. “Thanks, Celty. Are you okay?”

 

“[Nothing’s happened to me. I’m more concerned about Izaya now, after finding you.]”

 

“ _Dammit_ ,” The brunet has even less defenses than either of them. If that demon almost succeeded in taking Shizuo somewhere to kill him, then they might actually never find Izaya. “We’ve gotta find him before it’s too late.” Shizuo grabs hold of Celty’s hand to keep them together as they search.

 

* * *

 

“Dēloun,” Izaya says again. The mist around him charges with electrical static. He can’t see anyone and he can’t tell which way to head now. Delic’s been here, shouldn’t be far from around here, going by the electricity fighting back the fog to clear the small circle Izaya’s standing in.

 

The brunet jerks back as phantom hands inch up his clavicle. They don’t cease as he desperately tries to move away from them. A body is suddenly pressing against his back, straightening all of the hairs on his body, and forcing him to keep still. Fingers slide up the smooth skin of his neck before Izaya hears his own voice shriek.

 

The choker discharges static as Psykhê backs away from Izaya, holding their fingers out. “Dēloun, you jerk!”

 

Izaya’s eyes snap shut with the bright flash that follows Psykhê’s annoyed voice. There’s a heavy thud of bodies colliding and hitting the floor. When the brunet turns to look, he sees his demon on top of the other, spear through their gut yet again.

 

“You should know better than to touch what’s mine, Psykhê.” Delic growls, twisting the weapon in his hands and jamming the spearhead around Psykhê’s insides.

 

The other demon grins, swaying one hand in the air and motioning his needles into existence. “You mean like _this?_ ” Psykhê jerks his hand forward, sending the needles flying towards the other brunet. Izaya braces himself to dodge the attack when he’s slammed to the floor.

 

Izaya hears the needles pierce and dig into Delic’s skin with slick _schlunks_ as the blond looms over him. “You okay,” he asks, voice raw and weak in the moment. Izaya can smell the copper and iron of blood on his breath as if it were what he breathed. Smeared lines and rivers of the fluid trail down from his mouth, some dried and some fresh sliding down his chin to drip onto the man below him.

 

“Yes, but you’re not.”

 

“Just worry about yourself.”

 

“I am, that’s why I want you to tell me what I can do to help.”

 

“Nothing, just outlast--”

  
“ _Don’t ignore me for that meaningless creature!_ ”

 

Psykhê’s foot stamps down, digging their needles deeper into Delic’s back. He coughs, choking and spitting up blood that splatters onto the sheer material covering Izaya’s chest.

 

“Dēloun,” the brunet cries worriedly. Izaya reaches up to cup the blond’s strained face. The color of skin his skin is draining and Izaya can tell that his eyes are dimmer than before.

 

“I’m fine,” Delic placates, placing a hand over Izaya’s to comfortingly reassure him. He opens his mouth again when Izaya gasps, eyes focusing in on his fingers. His skin’s going translucent like glass. Izaya can see electricity charging around inside where the muscles, veins, and bones of his hands should be, reacting to his touch like a plasma globe.

 

Delic jerks away, twisting and grabbing Psykhê’s foot before it can stomp him again. He tugs the other demon down as his partisan rematerializes and the spear stabs up through Psykhê’s pectoral and out of the back of their shoulder. His head turns sharply to roar at the bloody brunet, “Get away from here!”

 

Izaya tries to say something as he shakily rises, only silence exiting his lips. The mist isn’t anymore safer for him than standing on their battlefield is. He wants to be _here_ , where he can see his demon fight and be there if need be. The other thing looks _fine_. Healthy and full of life as Delic grows visibly sluggish. The blond’s taking more and more blows in stride instead of dodging or stopping them mid-action. Each lightning storm he sends striking down is being easily matched with a hailstorm of needles raining down.

 

This thing’s going to be victorious and Delic’s going to die. Izaya will be left alone and free from all of the burdens the demons brought with them. The demon’s sins and transgressions against the brunet will be repaid with his life. Izaya wants to know what happens then. Will it reform in the demon realm? Will it truly die and never exist again? Will there be repercussions later in his life for summoning the demon?

 

“Dēloun,” Izaya recites again. The blond’s eyes flash brighter with his next strike at the other demon. Bolts of light spear through each of Psykhê’s legs, sending them to the floor in a heap. Their wounds are restitching back together and the brunet demon is back up again in mere seconds, as if he were shoved instead of stabbed through like a speared fish.

 

“Look at you,” Psykhê tuts. “You’ve already stopped regenerating, Dēloun. Your true form is starting to show.”

 

Delic grins broadly, blood painting his sharp teeth. Izaya doesn’t remember Shizuo’s being so pointed. “Such a shame that your personality makes you uglier than the forms you take.”

 

Psykhê shoots his hand forward with gritted teeth, sending a horde of needles flying into their other’s chest. The blond stumbles back with the force, oozing more blood onto the floor. Psykhê steps up to him confidently, their posture straight opposed to Delic’s forward slump.

 

“The humans have you _so_ screwed up. You can’t actually think you _are_ one, can you?” Psykhê’s words come softly, one hand cupping the blond’s face as the other grabs a needle jutting out of his chest, sticking out from where it’s pierced his heart. “I should’ve been more ferocious with you last time, Dēloun.” Their fingers tighten, pushing the weapon in deeper to twist.

 

Delic’s wild smile tears apart with the pain, mouth opening with a gasping intake of breath. More scarlet liquid spills out of the corner of his mouth with his drool. Izaya readies himself to say his demon’s name again when Delic speaks before him.

 

“Look at you,” he sneers up at the other demon, his face inching closer and his eyes glowing a vibrant orchid pink. “You’re such an unlovable creature that not even your monstrous other half wants you back. So you’ve got to force yourself back into their existence.”

 

Psykhê’s hand stills, eyes blown wide and lips parting in shock. Izaya covers his mouth with his hand as he watches his own face morph into a horrific snarl. Smog violently pours out of the demon’s clothes as a distorted shriek spills from their lips. Psykhê yanks the needle out of Delic’s chest only to stab it back in with more force, repeating the action again and again and again.

 

“You’re _so_ pathetic,” Delic spits, taking each frenzied stabbing. His grin is returning and splitting across his colorless face, the pain now meaningless to his previously aching body. “You never could handle the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really angry over some real-life events, so this got updated again before TAT. Oopsies? Geez, this chapter didn't seem to want to end either! I hope it was brimming for excitement for y'all, since now I feel obligated to prioritize updating other things next.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	20. Suffering (Duplicates)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of the fight, a body hits the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've bumped up the warnings of this to include detailed graphic violence, this is merely a notice of that.

Delic takes Psykhê’s passionate frenzy of stabbings like a parent holding a tantruming child, standing as still as possible against the forceful thrusts of the sharp needle. Psykhê’s desperately trying to chip away at Delic’s form, each piercing jab into his flesh creating cracks on his skin that seems to lessen the impact of the next blow. Izaya struggles to watch the creature with his face break down with rage, to see his own twisted expression of hurt and what appears to be jealousy.

 

Delic’s hand slowly rises to grasp hold of Psykhê’s wrist before his next stab. The brunet demon gasps, trying and failing to jerk away from the tight grip. The skin just before the blond’s elbow has vanished, everything below translucent and giving off sparks with a golden glow, the skin edged jaggedly where his two forms meet.

 

Psykhê can feel Delic charging his energy, squirming with more effort and spiraling fog in his free hand, summoning another pink needle. The blond’s arm rapidly glows brighter, his touch on the other burning. They’re not quick enough and electricity rises from Delic’s arm like pouring smoke before bursting outwards with an explosion. Stuck in the center, Psykhê loudly cries out in pain as their body’s hit with the brunt of the electrocuting force.

 

Izaya’s arms jerk instinctively to shield himself, the surge of electricity hitting him like a phantom ocean wave. More smog is cleared by the blast, widening their circle exponentially. He looks down at himself, tsking loudly as his clothes haven’t been unspelled. With his momentary distraction, Izaya fails to notice the arm reaching out of the fog for him. At its warm touch on his shoulder, Izaya jolts and spins around in place, his back facing the two demons.

 

Seeing Shizuo step out of the mist with Celty in tow, the brunet slumps slightly in relief, the tension in his body uncoiling.

 

“Are you okay?” Shizuo’s already intensely scrutinizing his body, staring at Izaya’s bare neck for a long period before noticing the blood staining the sheer of his clothes. “ _Shit._ ”

 

“Yeah, it’s not mine,” he reassures. “Did it try anything with you?”

 

Shizuo opens his mouth when a sudden flash of bright light has him recoiling. Psykhê’s agonizing cry floods the circle, their body crumbling to the floor, only held up by Delic’s grip on their wrist.

 

“Where’d your fight go, Psykhê?” Delic’s layered voice tauntingly asks. “Don’t tell me that shock therapy actually works on you.”

 

The brunet demon laughs, higher and cheerier than expected of one just struck with a bolt of lightning. “You can’t fool me, Dēloun. Not being able to feel pain anymore doesn’t make you tough, I know you’re on your last battery.” Psykhê smiles, their lips stretched wide across their face and their eyes narrowed enough to look seductive and cajoling. “Keep hurting me all you want. You know how I like the rough treatment.”

 

Delic’s eyes narrow, his grip loosening just enough for the other to turn their wrist in his fingers. Psykhê seizes the moment, thrusting their arm forward while jerking the other arm free. Izaya’s stomach rolls with the resounding sickening _squelch_. Delic’s head tips back with the impact, giving the trio a clear view of the wound and the blood that oozes down his cheek like seeping molasses. The flesh around Delic’s eye has cracked, splintering lines up his forehead and down his cheek. His hand rises to his face slowly and determinedly, fingers gingerly touching the needle jutting out of his eye socket before wrapping around the weapon and pulling it out, inch by inch. Shizuo handles the view much better, but can’t stop the sting and drag in his eye as his body imagines the sensations.

 

Psykhê backs up with a disturbing high pitched giggle, putting a few feet of space between them. The needle fully retracts from their other’s eye, a string of sticky scarlet connecting where the two met. Delic’s gaze lingers on the neon pink weapon, missing how Psykhê’s eyes travel to their encroachers. Shizuo’s heart seizes and skin crawls with phantom spiders when he realizes the demon’s honed in on him, their smile splitting into a grin.

 

The needle in the blond demon’s fingers flashes with a light before charges of electricity roam its form. With the surge, Delic’s face cracks more, skin chipping apart and disappearing with a static rush. Looking more and more like a glass doll containing a raw lightning storm, his expression grows more stoic and posture more rigid. His eye socket remains boringly empty, pink light emanating from the hole in place of an eye.

 

“Psykhê,” he warns as the other demon begins taking steps towards the trio. Psykhê ignores him, spreading his arms as he walks and pouring out more fog from his clothes. Shizuo takes one step then three back as the demon’s eyes glow with their zoned, predatory gaze.

 

There’s a sudden flash of harsh light and the blond’s eyes shut with a jerk of his head. A fierce cold stabs through Shizuo’s body, spreading the freezing chill blooming in his chest throughout his entire body. Everything feels numb and racked with frostbite and he can’t breathe, mouth moving in effort to gasp as he opens his eyes to gather what the hell just happened to him. Izaya’s looking back, both hands tightly clasped over his mouth to stifle an anguished sob. His eyes are tearing, spilling rivers down his face. Unable to gather any oxygen for his body, Shizuo’s vision goes white before unconsciousness hits.

 

Delic tugs the needle in his grasp out of the other blond’s neck, the weapon phasing through his skin and leaving no trace of the spearing. Without it keeping him upright, Shizuo’s body drops to the floor with a heavy _thump_. A heartbroken noise of distress claws its way out of the back of Izaya’s throat and through his fingers as the blond’s lifeless eyes gaze back at him from by his feet.

 

The needle’s dropped to the floor and then stomped on, exploding with a puff of smoke. Delic’s head turns towards Izaya and Celty to monotonously request, “Keep his body safe.” Izaya’s brain can’t parse his words, the gears of thought frozen still with trauma. Celty’s none the better, her hands shaking and mind frenzied with replays of the moment.

 

Psykhê’s teeth grit with a ferocious growl, the fog spilling from their clothes slamming to the floor to curl upwards and back to their body. It rises up to their torso, winding together in a spiral and splitting apart to morph in to a floating horde of needles. “You’ll regret stealing that from me,” they exclaim furiously.

 

“You’re wrong,” Delic retorts firmly, motioning his partisan back into his hand. The gold and platinum of the spear gleams brightly, overflowing with sparks of magic. “I no longer regret doing anything to you.”

 

* * *

 

Shizuo jolts on the floor with a heavy gasp. The white flooding his vision is fading away and the spinning vertigo he feels in his head and stomach is drifting away as he breathes. He sits up sluggishly, his bones and veins aching from the surging chill that came with the needle spearing through his throat. A shoe taps impatiently and annoyed just in front of him. Shizuo’s gaze lifts, his mouth almost spilling out the brunet’s name upon seeing the familiar attire before quickly realizing that that’s _not_ Izaya and he has _no idea_ where the hell he is.

 

Shizuo’s slumped on the ground in the middle of what appears to be a library. Rows of bookshelves that run up stories surround him and the creature, the blond seemingly dropped in the middle of a hallway running in-between shelves. The creature with Izaya’s face is scowling so deeply that their lips almost curl back inwards to swallow their chin. The sleeves of the brunet’s trademark coat travels past their wrists, their fingertips barely inching out of the hem of red fur. Shizuo shouldn’t feel a minor comfort that the thing is mostly dressed in black and not white, but he does regardless. Their stony gaze glares daggers at the open book in their hand as their foot taps harder.

 

“Where the fuck am I and who the fuck are you?”

 

Their red eyes dart to him, finally noticing that he’s woken up. The book in their fingers snaps closed loudly as they sneer down at him. “It won’t matter to _you_ , _human_ , because _you_ are going back! And when you get back _there_ , you tell Dēloun that _I_ am _not_ a babysitter for his _toys_!” The book’s jerked at Shizuo’s face, punctuating each snarled word with a shake.

 

The blond’s eyes adjust to the close object as the creature finishes and stills their arm movements, reading the clear printed kanji labeling the book: _Shizuo Heiwajima_. Shizuo’s hand darts out to snag it for examination, but the creature’s quicker and jerks their arm back.

 

“Are you so _stupid_ as to try and _steal_ from me, _human?_ ”

 

“It’s got my name on it!”

 

“That doesn’t mean it _belongs_ to you. _You_ shouldn’t even _be here._ ”

 

“Well, where the fuck is here?!”

 

The creature taps themselves on the chest with the book, “ _My_ realm.” They lean in, their eyes glowing a darker shade of red. “Only the damned dare traverse here.”

 

Shizuo ceases his movements to stand up. “I’m dead,” he exhales. “That bastard _killed_ me?!”

 

A floating head speedily flies too close to his face to roar, “ _Did you not hear me?!_ ” Shizuo’s mouth gapes slightly at Izaya’s decapitated head yelling at him when there’s suddenly another at his other side. “ _You shouldn’t_ _ **be**_ _here!_ ”

 

The creature idly waves the book in their fingers as three more heads float around their space. “Your records are dry of magical dealings. Dēloun sent you here asking a _favor_ ,” they spit as if the word is the foulest thing to ever exist,” of _me._ The _audacity!_ ”

 

“ _You’re going back!_ ” One of the two heads yells at his face with narrowed eyes.

 

“Hachimenroppi,” the voice of another Izaya cuts through. “Would you allow the favor if I relieved you of your burden of watching the human?”

 

The red and black schemed Izaya slowly turns their head as their scowl manages to deepen, seemingly considering it with their silent, pressed lips. The new Izaya confidently walks up to the two. Bathed in a white and gold color scheme, this one is in garb Shizuo doesn’t recognize and wants to write off as a ridiculous fantasy prince cosplay.

 

Hachimenroppi’s lips curl away to bare their gritted teeth. “ _Fine,_ ” they spit. “But the human touches _nothing_. I expect _no_ disturbances, Subarashi!”

 

“As you wish,” they calmly respond with a polite bow. Waiting til the other creature has stalked elsewhere to turn to Shizuo, their neutral expression gives way to softness. “Please refrain from panicking.”

 

“ _I’m--_ ” Shizuo tries to say, the regal Izaya cutting into his sentence.

 

“You’re not dead. There is little need for upset.”

 

“ _But--_ ”

 

“This is not Hell, per se. Just a demon’s realm.”

 

“ _Stop fucking--_ ”

 

“That book is the record of your life, it came with you. You would not be able to read it, had you taken it.”

 

“ _\-- doing that! How--_ ”

 

“I do not know what you are thinking, merely what you are about to ask.”

 

Shizuo glares, unable to prove it either way. He opens his mouth, snapping it shut as his frustration boils when the Izaya speaks before him. “You find my interruptions most impolite, my apologies.”

 

“ _Are you done?_ ”

 

“Please,” they implore. “I will answer whatever possible. I do not share Dēloun's limits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had cliffhangered this on Shizuo's "death" as I originally intended, I would've been far too evil for my own tastes. Anyway, y'all remember some of the other demons Izaya mentioned while going through the grimoire, right? Knowing that now probably adds quite a bit of "what if" tension to chapter one.
> 
> The best translation I could find for Hachimenroppi's name was "the one doing the work of many", which led to me going "Let's give him tons of floating heads! Those yelling at Shizuo will be hilarious!" I must admit, Roppi is my favorite along with Delic in regards to what I can do with their imagery. To those that aren't aware, Subarashi Hibi is Hibiya's full song name and translates to "Wonderful Days".
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	21. In The Business of Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shizuo deals with the demons he's been thrust into the realm of.

“Sh… Shizu-chan?” Izaya’s voice is barely a whispered exhale through the trembling fingers slowly uncovering from his mouth. The brunet drops to his knees like a rock with a shuddered inhale, scuttling up to the blond’s body on the floor. His tremoring fingers timidly reach out to touch the blond’s face. Shizuo’s eyes are open but wholly unresponsive like with the rest of his body. His neck’s clean of any injury, so whatever happened must be internal, right? Shizu-chan can’t be dead. No matter what Izaya’s thrown at him, he’s survived. Shizu-chan can’t die to _this mess,_ _Izaya’s mess_. Izaya never meant for him to get this involved.

 

Tears are welling up in his eyes, clouding the brunet’s vision. His entire body feels numb and every other shallow inhale is choked. If he were not managing as much, Izaya would be certain that his heart had entirely stopped.

 

* * *

 

“If I’m not dead, then why the hell am I here?”

 

“Dēloun sent you,” Subarashi answers simply, “as Hachimenroppi stated.”

 

“ _Why?_ ” Shizuo stresses while motioning forward with his arms. Someone shushes him and he startles backward when a head jerks towards him with an open glare before zipping away.

 

The golden creature hums, lifting a white gloved finger to poise against their chin in thought. “Without being intrusive, my thought is that they acted in regards of Psykhê.”

 

Shizuo’s eyes narrow dangerously. He opens his mouth to speak ill of the blond demon, but the brunet creature interrupts. “No. As in to prevent Psykhê from gaining energy from yourself.”

 

“So the bastard kills me so I can’t be spelled again?”

 

“Psykhê does not gain energy from those they charm. They feed through the consumption of souls. You are not dead, as I have stated. Your soul has been detached from your body, but _that_ is the interesting aspect I wish to inquire about.”

 

The blond looks down at himself. He’s in his usual clothes, he feels okay aside from that aftershock of chills. But that cold, it was the same he felt when that fucking thing charmed and violated him. So, it’s been trying to eat him? They didn’t kill him the first time, is it a slow process then? With how the two demons are going at it as they are in the human realm, both of them must be running low on energy. Delic’s likely acting in his own interest, but Shizuo guesses he at least owes him thanks for something. Assuming he can even get back. “I don’t know anything about any of this bullshit,” he says with a shake of his head.

 

“As expected,” Subarashi frowns down at themselves.

 

Shizuo runs fingers through his hair as he thinks. “...Why is that bit interesting?”

 

The brunet creature displays one spread hand, “Dēloun does not have that ability; to separate souls from their physical body. Hachimenroppi and Psykhê do.” They fidget in place, changing which foot they’re leaning their weight on to and putting their other hand under their elbow. “Dēloun could not reach Hachimenroppi from the human realm, so I theorize that they must of allowed more of Psykhê into themselves to access their powers and send you here.”

 

Shizuo watches the creature with Izaya’s face press their lips together and their brow dip. “You’re worried about that demon,” he states. Subarashi looks back at the blond with slightly wider golden eyes. They’re not denying it and Shizuo’s not sure how to feel about that.

 

“Dēloun is not the only one in prospective danger when they takes that risk.” Their fingers intertwine, held up against their chest. “But I fear most for Dēloun and what might become of them.”

 

The blond’s stomach churns like an agitated ocean. Something about seeing concern on Izaya’s face for someone that looks like him makes him feel uncomfortable and downright weird. “You’re a demon, right?” He’s pretty damn positive, but he’s gotta be sure.

 

The brunet nods, re-straightening their posture as they introduce themselves. “My name is Subarashi Hibi. My apologies for a postponed formal introduction, sometimes in my haste I overlook them.”

 

Shizuo nods to himself, glancing around and noticing more and more heads zipping down the rows of bookshelves and hallways or hovering around certain books on the shelves. “You wanna help Delic by helping me, is that right? That’s why I’m not dealing with that grumpy asshole, yeah?” He gestures a thumb over at one of the floating heads. They appear to notice the action, glaring and baring their teeth back at the blond.

 

“So, how do I trust you? To me, both of those fucking _things_ aren’t even remotely trustworthy. Even if Delic saved me form being eaten, I still saw what that piece of shit did to Izaya.”

 

“I...” Subarashi trails off as their eyes drift downwards, unsure of what to say.

 

“What does it even matter?” Shizuo’s head turns to one of the floating Hachimenroppi heads. “Is it not ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?” Another parts from peering at a shelf to join the other. “Subarashi is so weak for Dēloun that they’d assist a human that hates them. It’s _pathetic._ ” A head zips from behind the golden demon to glare at them face to face. “ _You’re pathetic._ ”

 

Subarashi freely glares back, reaching out a finger to prod the head. Their gloved finger glows a bright yellow before making contact. The head shrieks at the poke, bursting into a mass of faded yellow dust or sand. Which exactly, Shizuo is unsure. “You speak ill of me as if you do not act in favor of Tsukishima,” they retort authoritatively.

 

Hachimenroppi’s full body quickly rears a corner, not stopping their strong gait until they’re in the face of the other demon. “That is different!”

 

“Do tell,” Subarashi’s yellow eyes narrow, their posture firm despite the other demon trying to physically impose themselves on them.

 

“Tsukishima does not go prancing around the human realm!”

 

“Well how could they? They’re the size of a natural satellite.”

 

Hachimenroppi’s form shakes with displacing gray ash, heads rapidly returning to surround their shoulders. “ _You--!_ ”

 

“ _Oi!_ ” Shizuo yells to cut into their ridiculous bickering.

 

“I said _no disturbances,_ _human_ _!_ ” The scarlet demon roars, swinging an arm towards the blond and freezing when their head turns to face him. Subarashi stills and looks in sync, prompting Shizuo to realize that they’re not starting directly at him. He turns slowly, eyes snapping open when he’s met with his own face directly behind his shoulder.

 

The doppelganger appraises him with a neutrally angry expression before their lips split, grinning broadly and displaying sharp, serrated teeth. Shizuo’s frozen, stuck staring at the shark-like maw and vibrantly red eyes of his monstrous self. Their hand reaches out, grasping his neck and lifting him into the air, their pointed and elongated nails biting into his flesh with the force. Shizuo grabs their wrist, his grip slipping and hands pulling away stained with blood. He tries again, digging his fingers into their skin, but their flesh softens and oozes more viscous red liquid at the attempt. Their lips quirk upwards with Shizuo’s struggling, grin opening more and stretching farther than humanly possible.

 

“Cease and desist, Yubiwa.” Subarashi demands, stepping away from one red demon to the other. “You are forbidden from consuming that human.”

 

The demon leans in towards the wounds by their fingers on Shizuo’s neck, their nose twitching. “Smells pretty good though.” Shizuo watches their tongue slowly run over the sharp tips of their teeth, cutting the appendage without a care. “I’ve been hungry for a _long_ time.”

 

One of the decapitated heads floats towards their shoulder. The head’s eyes begin to glow, the red of their iris bleeding out over their sclera and pupil. Lines form like knife slices along their cheekbones and temple, opening and exposing more eyes. The demon grits their teeth as more and more heads surround them and mimic the first’s actions.

 

With a sudden full body shudder, the demon releases Shizuo and claps their hands over their ears. The blond lands on his feet easily, stepping back with a slight stumble. Their head curls forward with an inhumanly guttural growl. Shizuo gets a good enough view of how sharp their nails actually are as they digs into the flesh of their own head to deal with some of the pain they’re experiencing. Desperately, they swing an arm out, shredding one of the heads with their claws and causing it to bleed and disappear. Their pain intensifies, causing them to collapse to their knees on the floor, as Hachimenroppi steps forward. The demon looks back at the other angrily, glaring back at their five glowing eyes with their own two.

 

“ _Fine,_ ” they hiss out before their entire form goes deep red in color and begins melting. Blood pools into a puddle on the floor before slowly vanishing as if pulled down by an invisible drain.

 

Shizuo soothingly rubs his neck while gathering his breath and evening out his breathing. Hachimenroppi’s eyes recolor back to normal. Their numerous eyes dart over to the blond once realizing that he’s staring at them.

 

“I did not save you _for_ you.” Their head cocks up and to the side, chin in the air and all five eyes closing. “I did it for Dēloun's favor.”

 

Subarashi steps towards the blond to assess his wounds. The cuts are minor and don’t pierce any arteries, the human should be in no danger from the damage. They lean in to snidely whisper, “Tsukishima would be upset with them, they mean.”

 

Shizuo’s head whirls to Subarashi, causing them to blink owlishly and reel back a step. “ _What the fuck was that?_ ”

 

“Rubi No Yubiwa, best to stay away from them.”

 

“ _No shit._ ”

 

“Even in Hachimenroppi’s realm, your presence must be noticeable.” Shizuo opens his mouth but the brunet interrupts yet again and irking a growl out of him. “Have no fear, the remainder of us have no interest in you in that manner.”

 

“If you keep doing that, I’ll punch you. Demon or not.”

 

Subarashi raises their fingers to their mouth nervously, “P-Punch?”

 

Hachimenroppi snorts loudly. “Hibi can’t stop themselves, but I say do it anyway.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“For fuck’s sake, you _do_ know nothing.” The red demon snarls, crossing their arms. Their overly long sleeves hang limply and make them appear more childish than imposing. “Subarashi sees the future, _all the time_. How else would they know what to say or when to be right here before I sent you back?”

 

“My apologies again. Have I not introduced myself?”

 

Hachimenroppi growls with a heavy, exasperated shrug, their sleeves swinging with the force and slipping up enough for Shizuo to see that the demon’s got more than one arm hidden in there.

 

* * *

 

Celty’s the first of the two of them to return to her senses. The flooding of thoughts in her mind halts when she notices the minute rise and fall of the blond’s chest. She falls to her knees, fingers frantically moving to his pulse point to feel for his heart. It’s there, to her relief, steady and subdued slightly. Shizuo’s eyes are still empty and lifeless and his body is far too cold to be simply paralyzed again, but if his body is otherwise fine then perhaps he is too? At the very least physically.

 

Izaya croaks out a gasp and recoils his fingers as indent-like cuts bloom open across the blond’s neck. There’s a phantom pressure on his skin in the shape of a hand grasping his neck. Celty summons a blade to slash at the air by Shizuo’s neck, but it doesn’t appear to do anything. The strangulation last for moments far too long for the duo, but disappears all the same. The dullahan’s helmet turns as she looks over the two demons for any indication that it was due to one of them, however they’re both still figuratively at each other’s throats.

 

“[Izaya,]” Celty squeezes the brunet’s shoulder comfortingly. “[I think Shizuo’s okay, he’s just not _here_.]” His body appears dormant, his consciousness elsewhere, not unlike her own situation with her head and body. Whatever Delic did sent him somewhere else and, more importantly, out of Psykhê’s reach, which had made them _furious_.

 

The informant sees her message through his teary eyes but still trembles like the last leaf in winter, retracting his hands to wrap his arms around himself. Celty isn’t certain if he’s still in shock or just cold, but regardless, Izaya swallows and starts to calm down with the action. His eyes narrow after a quick wipe as he regathers himself, something cueing the brooch to spark in that instant. Izaya’s head sharply turns towards the two demons still fighting amongst themselves and rises back onto his feet with the help of one hand on the floor to keep his legs straight.

 

There’s a faint noise of glass chipping against the point of a nail, followed by a loud _crack_. More of the skin around Delic’s eye has broken apart, the lines in his cheek fully cracking open like two halves of earth during a quake. The chipping skin fades and disappears with a rush of static, revealing more translucently contained electricity underneath. The cracks spread and multiply as more breaks apart.

 

“It’s been so long since I’ve _seen_ you, Dēloun,” Psykhê casually jokes with a vicious grin. They rear their hand back with a twirl of their wrist before swinging it back down, summoning a new horde of needles and sending them flying at the blond demon. With the distraction in place, Psykhê’s lingering fog coils around the blond’s ankles, intending to tighten and drag him at their first opening.

 

Delic jerks his partisan in front of himself, rapidly spinning it between his fingers and deflecting Psykhê’s weapons elsewhere, numerous stabbing into the floor around his body. The weapon continues spinning as he rotates his arm back to his side. His fingers tightly snap closed around the staff and his hand jolts down with the momentum, stabbing the spearhead into the floor a centimeter next to his foot and dissolving the fog with a surge of sparks. Psykhê recoils into themselves for a second as Delic’s eyes refuse to leave them, even in favor of aiming his weapon.

 

“You’re out of ideas,” Delic says smoothly, both voices reverberating in sync. A crack that cuts into his mouth splits the skin apart as he talks, showing no alternate mouth underneath. “I know this for a fact, Psykhê.” He tugs his spear out of the floor easily, giving it a twirl to right its head upwards, and begins walking forward slowly. “You could give up now--”

 

“I refuse!” Psykhê exclaims, almost shrieking with contempt for the thought.

 

Delic stills, his neutral expression disappearing for a petite smile. “I believe that...I’m happy to hear that, because I wouldn’t’ve allowed you to.”

 

When Psykhê speaks next, Delic does so as well. Their voices harmonize together, oozing with their variously pitched hatred for one another. “I’m not leaving without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intend to write oneshots and take some requests for this AU once I'm finished with this fanfic. I've come to really adore this universe myself and how the alternates are within in it. I already want to do a one-off just so I can have Roppi and Delic interacting alone. I could jokingly title it "Friends On The Other Side", the song has been on my writing playlist for this fic since the very start. The implied Delic/Hibiya and Tsukishima/Hachimenroppi in this would be very interesting to explore as well. Anywho, I'll be sure to link my writing tumblr in my notes for the final chapter, since very few seem to realize that it's on my profile.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	22. As Lonely As Me (Invisible Man)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Shizuo struggles in the demon realm, the fight between Psykhê and Dēloun reach a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Recommended listening: Pavlove - Fall Out Boy)

Shizuo thinks as silence falls upon him and the two formerly bickering demons. The golden demon is unlikely to help him kill Delic along with Psykhê, be it based on their own feelings or some unknown intention. Shizuo risks being lied to and doing more harm than help if he asks the demons about ways to deal with the two back in the human realm. Is there anything he can do? If he goes back too soon, assuming he even can, he could be eaten by that fake Izaya and give it more power to rampage around the human world with. Shizuo feels utterly helpless again, he hates being forced into inaction and leaving his fate in the hands of others, especially others he can’t trust.

 

The other demon begins stepping away and back to their duty when Subarashi suddenly clasps their hands together with a loud _clap_ and squeezes their eyes shut. Shizuo and Hachimenroppi glance at them oddly before the floor _erupts_ , shaking with a fury. The gray masonry of the floor cracks apart like dried wood met with an ax, some of the jagged stones angling upwards from the force and exposing the ink black nothingness under the floor. The two demons float effortlessly as the blond is stuck maneuvering on the ground as it pieces itself back together slowly from the far-off explosion.

 

Roppi clicks their tongue as Shizuo yells, “The hell was that?”

 

“Fissuring from Dēloun and Psykhê's realms,” the red demon answers.

 

Shizuo’s about to ask what that means when Subarashi is ahead of him. “Their realms are falling apart as they weaken. They will collapse upon death.”

 

“Are we safe here?”

 

“Yes,” Hachimenroppi murmurs, attention elsewhere. “It’s merely an echo.”

 

The blond watches the demon open their coat to root around inside the pockets, revealing what the full body coat was hiding underneath. Two pairs of arms are crossed in front of the creature’s torso, two more pair disappearing inside of the sleeves. Hachimenroppi eventually finds what they’re looking for, pulling out a book from one of the inside pockets. It shudders in their grasp, firing off sparks that ripple off of the cover and pages. Something black cracks into the slate gray color of the book from its corners, inching its way to the core and spreading. Shizuo’s eyes widen, catching the name printed on the spine: _Izaya Orihara_. The red demon opens the book, flipping through to the end pages to scan.

 

“Is that supposed to be doing that?”

 

Hachimenroppi quirks an eyebrow, their eyes slowly sliding over to look at the blond. Their lip raises and their gaze narrows on him like that of an adult at a child speaking out of turn, and Shizuo grits his teeth in anger. Subarashi looks between them, already aware of the upcoming events.

 

“Answer me, bastard! Are you doing shit to the flea here too?!” He accuses, body posturing to charge forward at a moment’s notice.

 

“Was I not clear before, Subarashi? I said _no disturbances_. Control Dēloun's pet or I’ll revoke our deal.”

 

Hibi raises two hands in surrender as Shizuo runs forward with a roar. “ _Who’re you calling a fucking pet?!_ ”

 

The demon shrinks back, underestimating the blond’s bravado, and their arms untwine from each other to reach out. Their joints pop and crack garishly as they outstretch the bottom two pair. Shizuo realizes far too late that the demon’s arms are several feet longer than humanly possible. Two limbs maneuver around Shizuo easily with his sudden shock, their hands gaining tight purchase on his wrists and lifting him into the air effortlessly.

 

“This human calls you a monster, no? You seem pathetically human to me.” Hachimenroppi holds up the book as they gloat with a bored tone.

 

“ _Bastard!_ _Let me go so I can kick your a--_ ” The blond freezes as a hand slaps against his pectoral, the other on his calf. The demon’s pointed nails appear as sharp a scalpel, but what’s more concerning are it’s motions as it runs along his form. Groping around his body, the two hands leave a thick gray ooze behind their touch. Shizuo struggles desperately, worthlessly kicking at the demon as his limbs phase through their body and trying to pull his arms free from their iron grip. His movements are being restricted more and more as he panics, and it’s only when he can’t force his legs apart does he realize that the creature’s intent isn’t to feel him up like Psykhê had, but to cocoon him like a fly in a spider web.

 

Hachimenroppi steps closer and cranes their neck in. “Speak again and I _will_ shut your mouth permanently.”

 

“This is excessive,” Hibi points out gingerly as Shizuo growls back at the red demon with furious eyes.

 

“I find humans _distasteful_ and I find humans that interrupt my work even _more distasteful_. If it can’t be quiet, I will punish it like an unruly dog.”

 

Hachimenroppi returns to Izaya’s book, finding something on a page that makes their face split with disgust. They grasp the page between their fingertips and yank out the bound paper with a noisy _rip_. Shizuo stills with shock as more pages are ripped out, the paper discarded to the floor where they dissolve into dust and float away as specks. He has no idea what the actions mean or what could happen from them, but it can’t be a good thing.

 

“ _What’re you doing?!_ ” Nearby heads jerk over at the blond with his outcry.

 

The red demon whirls on Shizuo quickly. “Are you _so_ dim that you cannot see what’s best for yourself?! I _said--_ ”

 

“I would also like to know what you’re doing,” Subarashi interjects for Shizuo’s sake. “I’ve never had the pleasure to watch you work, Hachimenroppi.”

 

“It’s been tainted,” the demon shrugs off the other’s inquires. “Your guess by whom,” they say as they hold the book open and out with their fingers for Subarashi to see the pages for themselves.

 

Shizuo can’t read the writing that boldly stretches across the two pages presented in huge, heavily inked symbols, but whatever it is gets a reaction out of the golden demon, a hand rising to cover their mouth. The language isn’t any one he recognizes and he doubts that it’s even human. On the page circles overlap one another, half formed ovals cross and intertwine with misshapened Vs, and other distorted shapes intermingle to form a design.

 

“ _O-Oi! What’s it say?_ ”

 

Hachimenroppi’s glare renews, their lips twisting with annoyance and snapping the book closed. “That I need to re-categorize it, thanks to Psykhê and Dēloun's meddling.”

 

* * *

 

Celty’s setting Shizuo’s body into a more comfortable position on his back when Izaya starts walking away from her. She frets momentarily, but ultimately decides it’s better for her to keep watch over Shizuo. There’s a determined gleam masking his harsh eyes that she’s not familiar with. Izaya would very well be intimidating if he were not walking towards the magically fueled fight to the death like a madman.

 

Psykhê is the first to turn away in their fight, avoiding an incoming strike with a twirl, to look at the human encroaching on their battlefield. The demon’s not free of damage, their right shoulder, most of their left arm, and both of their legs legs sharing Delic’s glassy appearance. Inside of their limbs swirls a thick glowing fog, the color fading back and forth between a stark white and a dreary pink. Their nails have elongated to needle-like points and their teeth are sharper, as if their set has been exchanged for that of a canine’s. The soul-eating demon’s gaze grows ravenous as it focuses on Izaya, their neon pink eyes wild. The brunet’s strong gait continues towards them, not dissuaded by the look. The grin on Psykhê’s face splits impossibly wider and, when the next stab is being thrust forward, the demon allows the spearhead to dig into their chest with a laugh.

 

“Come to offer yourself for--”

 

Izaya raises his hand quickly and interrupts the demon with a strong strike to their face. The slap whips Psykhê’s face down and to the side, Izaya’s hand-print blooming in pink across their cheek. The demon’s cheek suddenly cracks from the impact and pieces of their faux skin falls apart for more translucency. Psykhê’s eyes go wide with shock, never anticipating that the human would dare try to attack them so brazenly. Silence bursts into the room until the brunet finally speaks, his voice calm and even but brimming with anger like a thick coat of oil.

 

“I’m in love with Shizuo Heiwajima.”

 

With the sentence, the brooch on Izaya’s neck shines with a bright light. Electricity is suddenly caressing his body, but he hasn’t got the mind to be concerned with it. The chill in the air is phasing away and the familiar textures of his clothing hug his arms and legs again.

 

Psykhê’s eye pop wider, their mouth gaping and peeling away more of their skin with the stretch. There’s a fierce noise like hardened clay grinding against itself, the crunching and sanding piercing Izaya’s eardrums like nails against a chalkboard. The brunet watches the demon as if they’re going to burst apart, but Psykhê only loses more of their skin and it is Celty that is the first to notice Delic standing straighter.

 

Izaya’s head reluctantly turns at the blond demon’s movement. The appearance chosen for the informant has entirely shattered away, revealing the demon’s glass doll form underneath. Body almost fully featureless, the brunet can still make out the faintest echos of Shizuo’s face shape when he desperately searches for it amidst the kept lightning charging inside of his translucent form. His demon has no sharp nails to claw with, nor even a mouth to speak with, and his two vividly pink mischievous eyes can no longer be classified as eyes, but rather as boring beams of emitted light. Izaya feels seen through when he meets Delic’s gaze, despite being the one between them where that isn’t a legitimate possibility for.

 

“Dēloun,” Psykhê exhales reverently.

 

One of the other demon’s hand rises to cup Izaya’s cheek, warmth bleeding off the smooth glass. The brunet tries to gather something, _anything_ , from his gaze, but can’t determine a thing through his piercing eyes. Delic’s eyes slowly slide off of Izaya to Psykhê, his hand retracting as he steps away from the brunet towards his other half.

 

Smoke lingers inside of his chest among the bright golden flashes of light, multiplying and spreading as he opens his arms as if awaiting a hug. Panic floods Psykhê’s eyes, their head shaking furiously as they step back.

 

“ _No! I--_ ” Psykhê stops mid-sentence as if interrupted, jerking their head around as if they can’t pinpoint where whatever is speaking to them is coming from. “ _This isn’t what I wanted!_ _I just-- No!_ ”

 

There’s a forceful shattering noise, like a brick briefly meeting a window as it passes through, and Izaya’s hands jerk up to cover his ears from the suddenness of it. Delic’s torso shatters, his partisan spearing through from inside of his chest and harpooning into Psykhê’s leg with a loud, anguished cry. There’s another breaking through the glass, and then another and another, until all four of the other demon’s limbs are speared through, with one extra attached to their chest through their heart.

 

Psykhê grabs the poles jutting out of their arms and desperately tries to pull them out, failing miserably with a sob. The staffs rattle in the demon’s grip, the thick metal minutely bendable like chains. There’s another sudden sound of glass snapping apart like a wine glass met with a solid floor and the metal of the partisans glow to a bright yellow-gold as Delic’s body completely breaks apart. The glass disappears before hitting the floor and the kept lightning triples its ferocity, no longer contained. The light it emits grows stronger by the second and Izaya can only make out the vaguest humanoid shape before having to protect his eyes.

 

There’s a scrapping noise, presumably from Psykhê as they try to resist being slowly dragged forward by the spears.

 

“ _No! Dēloun, listen--! Please! I don’t want to hear this!_ ” The demon pleas, unable to free themselves. “ _You hateful bastard, how could you do this to yourself!?_ ”

 

Izaya listens to his own voice scream before there’s an uproarious boom of thunder eclipsing it and Izaya’s very own thoughts. The room is dead silent before he realizes it. Slowly and carefully, he peels his fingers away from his eyes in case there’s still a strong light, but there’s nothing. His apartment is back to normal, no lingering fog or any damages to suggest there was even a fight here. There’s no toppled over chairs or otherwise broken pieces of furniture, no blood stains, not even marks where lightning surely struck the wooden floor and burnt it.

 

Izaya’s hands shake and one jerks upwards to grasp at his neck. His fingertips meet the silk of choker, still in tact and the only sign of what occurred left behind. “Dēloun,” he murmurs, rubbing his index finger over the brooch. It doesn’t spark nor disappear with his touch, instead drooping forward laxly. It’s slipping from his neck, Izaya realizes, the silk unwinding as if it was tied back with a bow that had just come undone. The brunet holds the accessory in his hand after it detaches from his neck. Gazing down at the seal, his eyes swim and cycle through various emotions.

 

Anger is the starkest, as Izaya grits his teeth and seethes. How dare that demon get off so easily after all he’s done and brought with him! With no proper goodbye, Izaya has no way of knowing if they’re truly dead or not. What the hell is he supposed to do now? Are there truly no other consequences to his actions?

 

With the thought, Izaya’s head whirls back to Celty and Shizuo’s body, still dead-eyed and statuesque on the floor in the comfortable laid out pose the dullahan fixed him in. The demons have disappeared without a solid trace and, unfortunately, Shizuo’s consciousness has too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dislike saying how many chapters a story will have, due to the nature of how I write, but I do suppose that I can say, reasonably certain, that this story has two to three chapters left in it. I apologize how long it has been since an update, as life has gotten rough with me again and my other story took the spotlight momentarily. This story's ending has been quite finicky with me as well, it's been through quite a few brainstorms and draft stages, but I'm quite positive that no one is interested in hearing my rejected ideas, as silly as some of them are.
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	23. You Should Take My Life, You Should Take My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psykhê and Dēloun's concluding fight reaches the demon realm.

Hachimenroppi walks away with Izaya’s life in their hands, leaving Shizuo webbed up between the ends of two bookshelves with Subarashi. The golden demon glances at him once the other has disappeared from sight. Outstretching their hand, yellow particles flow into their open palm and swirl before molding together into a shape. In seconds the demon’s summoned a short sword, the metal a shining white gold, and starts slicing through the web to free the ensnared blond. The surrounding web is quickly cut away and Shizuo is dropped to the floor unceremoniously.

 

“My apologies for them,” Hibi says while pulling apart the thicker webbing keeping Shizuo bound with their hands.

 

“What did they mean when they said Izaya’s tainted?” He demands as more layers are peeled away.

 

“I am unsure exactly. It is not my duty to keep records of the dead, thus I am only familiar with what I have seen or have been told.”

 

“So, what can you tell me?”

 

Subarashi pauses in their efforts of pulling the blond free, the webbing removed disappearing from their gloved fingertips like dust in the wind. “Hachimenroppi keeps all of their records meticulously categorized. Living mortals and dead mortals are kept separate--”

 

“ _Is he dead? Did one of those fucking bastards kill him?!_ ”

 

Hibi continues on unperturbed, as if uninterrupted. “-- as are the mortals and the otherwise supernatural records.”

 

“ _Answer me!_ ”

 

“I do not have a solid answer for you, I’m afraid. I do not tread here enough to know which way is what. Hachimenroppi doesn’t encourage visitors and no one noses through their records aside from themselves and possibly Dēloun.” Subarashi stills after their sentence, thinking back on it and becoming positive that the other demon has snooped through Hachimenroppi’s things. Dēloun could never help themselves if they were curious.

 

Shizuo huffs raggedly as the demon returns to removing the webbing. He tries to calm himself as best as currently possible, the demon has only tried to help him, altruistically or not, and they at least deserve not to be yelled at in the face. It’s quiet between them for a short period of time as Subarashi finishes freeing Shizuo.

 

“Is there a way to see what’s going on back there?”

 

“I do not have such a capability.” Subarashi’s head turns, tilting back in the direction the red demon disappeared in. “Perhaps, Hachimenroppi...” They sigh heavily, a murmur on their lips. “Asking a favor of that one is a trial.”

 

“Do you mind? You’d get to see Delic too.”

 

The demon thinks it over as Shizuo’s finally freed, the blond already eagerly testing and stretching his unconstrained limbs. Subarashi's deep in thought for an extended minute before finally deciding on what to do. They nod resolutely, “I shall return.” The demon disappears in an instance with a swirl of golden particles, leaving the blond alone.

 

Shizuo glances down the hallways and shelves after standing up. The place is eerie, cold and mostly grays, and fittingly silent like a normal library. There’s no breeze here, there probably isn’t even air, why would demons need to breathe? Walking down one random hallway, the blond idly looks around. There’s no speck of dust on any of the shelves that Shizuo looks at and on the spine of each book lies a name, the language varying. He considers picking one at random to see if he can read them, but, if they’re books filled with someone else’s life, does he really want to meddle? To know something he shouldn’t about someone else? It’s too invasive, an act he’d be no better than Izaya is if engaged in. He doesn’t recognize any of these names and he didn’t really think he’d find the name of a someone he knows out of the seemingly billions that line the shelves anyway.

 

“What are you doing?” Hachimenroppi’s voice tsks and Shizuo whirls around to find the two demons behind him. The red demon carries one of their extra heads in their hands, the floating face looking back at Shizuo suspiciously. With those pursed lips, it’s probably the one that spoke.

 

“Looking around.”

 

“Well then; _don’t_. I’ll pluck out your eyes as I plan to do with Dēloun.”

 

“Isn’t he dying?”

 

Hachimenroppi bares their gritted teeth. Shizuo’s not sure if he’s figuring out that the demon is mostly talk or not. They did trap him in a web, but the more he’s around the Izaya look-a-like, the more the demon reminds him of a hissing cat.

 

“Hachimenroppi,” the golden demon interjects, “You had said that you could show us the human realm?”

 

The red demon glares at the other. “If this does not quiet and preoccupy the human’s attention, I shall ensnare him for Yubiwa to feast upon.”

 

Shizuo glares back but otherwise keeps his mouth shut as the creature starts to work. Holding the head with two hands, Hachimenroppi stretches the fingers of his another hand over their eyes. Their fingers pop and crack at the joints, elongating as their nails retract out. They don’t waste time, their nails diving into the soft flesh of the head’s eyes. The pierced eyes sluggishly bleed a deep, dark red as the demon twists their fingers and scoops the orbs out. Shizuo feels something in his gut curdle and twist. It’s not really Izaya being blinded, but it’s still his face that Shizuo’s watching.

 

“Izaya Orihara.” Hachimenroppi states, nonchalantly flicking an eyeball off of their nail like a speck of clingy dirt. A harsh red light projects from the head’s empty eyeball socket before dimming to a dull black and fading into moving images.

 

“Here,” the demon says while Shizuo’s trying to focus on what he’s looking at. His concentration is completely destroyed when the head is tossed at him like a softball. The blond instinctively catches the decapitated head despite his full blown grimace. Turning the head over, the light beams clear images over its face. Subarashi steps up to Shizuo’s side, hoping to gleam information on someone in the human world as well.

 

 _Shit,_ Shizuo almost doesn’t recognize the two pink demons. They’re both damaged heavily, literally falling apart as they go at it. Subarashi makes a surprised noise as the view of the two grows closer. Shizuo gives the head a shake. He’s not interested in the fighting duo, wanting to check up on Celty, Izaya, and his own body. The images swirl and refocus and Shizuo belatedly realizes he was seeing through Izaya’s perspective as the informant walks towards the fight. “What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bastard?”

 

The glassy duo are exchanging conversation in between blows, not yet having noticed Izaya coming closer. “Is there a way to hear them?”

 

“Open the mouth,” Hachimenroppi casually answers, nose already in one of their books, as Subarashi acts ahead of Shizuo.

 

Psykhê's hungry gaze hones on Izaya like a wolf’s at a wounded rabbit, but the brunet isn’t halting or slowing down. Shizuo doesn’t know how far someone can be from the demon before its gaze latches onto you, but he would never test it after what he’s been through. Izaya had looked petrified when he came to from his spelling, so what the hell is he thinking? Is he even thinking? What has Shizuo missed happening?

 

The pink demon allows themselves to be stabbed through when Izaya approaches, their sharp grin splitting when they speak. “Come to offer yourself for--”

 

There’s a resounding _c_ _lap_ from flesh meeting flesh and the demon head’s whirls from the blow. Shizuo’s mouth opens as Subarashi makes a soft, “ _Oh._ ” Hachimenroppi snorts out their amusement, turning a page in their book. It’s not every day a human attacks a demon, it’s especially extraordinary if they live to tell the tale. They at least have to hand it to Izaya for slapping the little infectious pest. Psykhê's not easy to do that to, Roppi would know.

 

The projected image fully focuses on the determined informant as his posture straightens from delivering the slap. “I’m in love with Shizuo Heiwajima.”

 

“ _What?_ ” The blond exhales.

 

“ _Finally,_ ” Hachimenroppi says exasperatedly, snapping their book shut. “This has been one of the worst cases I’ve ever read.”

 

Shizuo’s mind _blanks_ with Izaya’s honest words.

 

The brunet had been weird from the start of this mess. “I’ve found myself cursed,” he had said, his arms splayed open as far as they could go. Izaya had that familiar look in his eyes, like he was delighting in hurting someone else, but something was _wrong, askew_ just by a few mere degrees, to Shizuo. “I’m being followed around and tormented by a demon that wears your face to mock me.” Of all the people that Izaya was likely actually afraid of, the demon had still chosen Shizuo to appear as, the man he calls beast and monster and toys with to no end without a single shred of fear. Shizuo feels played with, he had come to his own conclusion after he watched Izaya fight off its attacks and the panicking brunet just went along with what Shizuo had thought up to get him away from himself and the truth. He hadn’t felt stupid when he thought of some other scenario instead of his enemy being in love with him, why the hell would he ever think that _that_ was the truth? Both of those pink things just toyed with him as well, skirting the subject and sexualizing Izaya with their words or magic whenever it could to help their goals. Everyone just _knew_ that Izaya loves Shizuo _except_ Shizuo. Even Celty seemed to have figured it out before the blond, refusing to talk about certain things she saw and heard from the demon while Shizuo couldn’t. Shizuo’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh of the head from the pressure.

 

Subarashi’s hand rises to cover their mouth, visibly aghast. “ _Oh, Dēloun,_ ” they breathe out.

 

The bright flashing coming from the projected images snaps Shizuo’s attention back. Delic’s glass form is shattering apart and the lightning that was inside is furiously spilling out. The amount is seemingly endless, the demon’s size growing now that they’re no longer constrained. The demonic mass of light almost touches the ceiling, growing taller than the second floor railing overlooking the bottom floor. The humanoid appearance put upon reconfigures after a moment of being free. A jagged flickering and flashing mass revealed, the creature is still mouth-less. A vertical third eye splits open where their temple formerly was before the mass curls inwards and out of Shizuo’s view. Psykhê’s panic intensifies with its appearance, the orchid pink glow of the iris drawing them in. Psykhê drags along the floor as they plead against words only they can hear, closer and closer towards the creature that is their other half. They claw desperately to no avail, leaving long marks where their nails tear into the wooden flooring. Shizuo can’t make them out anymore, the glowing mass obstructing his view. Izaya’s shrill scream slices into his ears before the mass erupts with jagged spikes and disappears without a trace.

 

Cracks form in the flooring under Shizuo’s feet. The loud fissuring beginning anew with more force to its rumbling. Roppi’s extra set of arms quickly uncoil from their coat, latching onto the shelves and holding their body in the air between the shelves.

 

Explosions boom in the distance, their constant rhythmic firing like a crescendoing drumbeat. Hibi whirls back on the blond, reaching out for him as distance is put between them with each shake of the splitting earth. “Shizuo!”

 

The blond curses, struggling to hold onto a shelf he instinctively grabbed on to as the world itself seems to be rocking. The black void underneath of the floor is being exposed as more and more of the floor jaggedly breaks apart and opens like a gaping maw. The stone shelf shivers under his fingers and Shizuo’s grip slips from the cold sweat acquired from Izaya’s reveal. He gets a final glance at the demon outstretching their hand for him, at how wondrously bright their golden glowing eyes are, before the black swallows him.

 

Shizuo’s earlier assessment was right, there is no air in the demon realm. He can’t see himself for all of the inky darkness surrounding him and each gasp for air comes back with nothing. His body isn’t panicking despite this, something lulling his mind towards peaceful unconsciousness. The blond feels like he’s floating, the tepid temperature of the void snug around him like a blanket. He can’t fight _nothingness_ , there’s nothing for him to do now but close his eyes, if they’re not already closed.

 

But then Shizuo’s next gasp comes up with air, and his body is back to being pressed against the bookshelf. His hand is latched to the shelf again, but the floor is restitched together. The eruptions having finished with an uproarious _boom_ that he just… _entirely_ missed.

 

Hachimenroppi crawls along the shelves like a spider, inching their way behind Subarashi. “Why did you do that?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hibi says stiffly, their nose in the air and head tilted up to the side haughtily.

 

“Dēloun would be _furious_ with you.”

 

“Well...” Subarashi trails off, their gloved fingers fidgeting with one another momentarily before threading together. “Dēloun is not here right now.”

 

Hachimenroppi huffs, crossing their main pair of arms. “You’re not only _pathetic,_ but also _ridiculous._ ”

 

“Valiant; is the word Tsukishima would use.”

 

“ _And_ asininely _insolent._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want this to end on Shizuo yelling something like "Did I just fucking die?!" despite how hilarious it would've been to me. (Hibiya and Roppi though.)
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	24. Corrode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya works towards saving Shizuo while Shizuo works towards not dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Recommended listening: Goodnight Socialite - The Brobecks)

The silence in Izaya Orihara’s living room is deafening after the vociferous fight that had been going on.

 

Softly padding towards the dullahan and the blond’s body, Izaya asks, “Did you catch any of what Delic was saying?”

 

Celty shakes her helmet and pulls out her phone, the familiar keyboard tapping gently easing some of the silence away. “[It wasn’t in Japanese. I doubt it was any human language.]” She writes, wondering if she had had her head equipped if she would’ve understood every word. “[It sounded like he was… Contemptuous, furious.]”

 

Izaya’s not surprised; despite what Psykhê professed, the two seemed to despise one another. Delic actually admitted to enjoying hurting his other half, among other spiteful things that piqued Izaya’s curiosity.

 

Kneeling down to get a better look at Shizuo, Izaya caresses the blond’s cheek. The informant’s shoulders feel lighter with his earlier confession, but it didn’t bring the blond back. He has no idea what he can possibly do to bring Shizuo’s consciousness back, but he knows where he can start looking for one. If that falls through, there’s always the obvious: try to re-summon his demon to the human world, if he can even be found again.

 

Izaya stands back up and gazes down at the choker still in his hand. The brunet glares at it with determined eyes before lifting it up and wrapping it around his neck again. The familiar silk makes his skin itch, like crawling fingers trying to wring his neck, but this time wearing it is Izaya’s choice. Tying the back with a bow, he turns slightly to face Celty.

 

“Will you be alright watching over Shizu-chan’s body? Taking him to Shinra might be beneficial in the meantime.” With no reference for how long bringing the blond back might take, Shinra will be able to give Shizuo the care he needs. He’s breathing without problems, however, any longer than a day and he’ll need an IV drip to keep him hydrated at the minimum and who really knows what other complications might occur in the meantime?

 

Nodding, Celty presents her phone, “[You have an idea that will help him?]”

 

“I know a place where I should be able to find one.”

 

* * *

 

Shizuo takes one breath at a time. His skin has risen with goosebumps and his hands are shaking minutely. He’s positive what he just felt was Death’s embrace, yet he’s still very much alive. The golden demon did _something_ and Shizuo’s not sure if he wants to know _what_ or not. His body is trembling with aftershocks as if the ground were still quaking. Whatever it was seemed to upset his physical chemistry more than the real earthquakes he’s lived through.

 

The two bickering demons have both seized in place while Shizuo gathered himself. He’s looking over the two questioningly when a ferocious chill charges through the realm. The cold is staggering and unforgiving and too familiar. Shizuo tenses as it passes through like a storm.

 

The blond opens his mouth to ask _is that fucking thing here_ or _what the fuck was that_ when the prickling sensation of being watched stabs into the back of his head. Nothing has changed when he spins around, eyes darting around to spot another set.

 

“I must depart,” Subarashi announces quickly.

 

“You’re taking _it_ with you!” Hachimenroppi gestures a swinging hand at Shizuo, who openly glares back.

 

“But--” The golden demon’s eyes bounce between the two for two solid seconds before they huff, “I _cannot_ waste time on this.”

 

Hibi’s hand shoots out for Shizuo’s before the blond can brace himself and suddenly the world around him is flooding with yellow particles. His stomach twists like a washing rag and his mind disorients as his inner ear can’t find balance in the gravity-less space. As fast as it starts, it stops and his feet stumble on solid ground again.

 

“I won’t be able to contain him much longer,” Shizuo hears someone far off say, their voice soft but struggling. He blinks a few times down at the blank white floor as he slowly breathes in and out to remove the rocking nausea.

 

“How difficult do you think the process will be?” Shizuo presumes Subarashi asks, going by the proper lift to their words.

 

There’s a brief silence before the familiar heavy exhale of a smoker. “Dēloun consumed Psykhê, Subarashi.” Another voice says, even and brushing monotonous. “I doubt that even Psykhê anticipated that.”

 

“That’s ‘cause it was stupid,” a voice chuckles from behind him. Shizuo glances back as he stands up straight, meeting the glowing gaze of his red doppelganger. Rubi grins back humorously, full set of sharp teeth on display, from their lazy position on their side on the floor. One hand props up their head with their cheek, pointed nails spread up their jawline. “Commendable, though.”

 

“Hardly.” The calm voice says and Shizuo whirls his head towards it, freezing in place when his eyes finally take in the giant demon pacing just mere meters away. The yellow mass swirls in and out of place, constantly shifting it’s entire body and position. Shizuo can only grasp where it appears to be by it’s jagged outline against the stark whiteness around it. _There’s nothing here_ , his mind quickly processes and moves on, _Is that really Delic now?_ The mass vibrates with sparks and Shizuo picks up a thunderous roar and shriek, the sound skipping through his eardrums and piercing right into his brain. It moves rapidly while Shizuo’s hands instinctively jerk to protect his ears, realizing the blond’s location and turning to face him.

 

“Dēloun,” Subarashi exhales softly. The golden demon slowly approaches the other, their head a few degrees shy from looking straight up into the sky with the enormous mass.

 

Shizuo forgets to breathe as the demon five times his size fixes their gaze on him. Their single pink eye draws him in, inching all of the white and black out of his focus as he’s swallowed. He gasps shakily as something slams into the underside of his skin. Something is itching the inside of his head and it’s leaving the sensation of being flayed inside out in it’s wake.

 

“ _D-Dēloun!_ ” The gentle far off voice chides, though startled. An invisible force bears down on the yellow mass, pressing it down like a lid on a hyperactive animal’s cage. Shizuo snaps back as the raging storm broadcasts it’s cries through his mind again. From behind, he can hear Rubi snicker.

 

“Psykhê's infection is worse than last time,” the steady voice says. When Shizuo turns his head to see _who_ , he’s not too surprised to see himself again. Smoking calmly with a long pipe, the demon in the blue and white haori is already less concerning than the red doppelganger. “If Psykhê is hiding inside of Dēloun to recover, it will be an arduous task to strip him out.”

 

“Please,” Subarashi clasps their hands together, “Tsugaru, you must try.”

 

The demon exhales a large plume of smoke that lingers aimlessly around their body, “I never stated that I would not.”

 

“I say we feed ‘em and see what happens,” Rubi supplies unhelpfully. “That’s why it’s here, right?”

 

The other demons exchange a strange hesitated look that Shizuo can’t entirely read, but it helps him realize that by _it_ , Yubiwa means _him_.

 

“Dēloun would not intend for that to happen.”

 

“Sure they would,” Rubi dismisses Hibi entirely. “With Psykhê’s screwing around, Dēloun would swallow up a human or a hundred.”

 

“Dēloun is not what Psykhê makes him. If you insinuate otherwise, I _will_ have your tongue.”

 

“Come and get it,” the red demon purrs back with delight. “You just can’t handle that Dēloun can be a bastard on purpose.”

 

“Your bickering won’t separate the two,” Tsugaru interrupts to diffuse the two. “The longer we wait, the quicker the two re-stitch themselves back together.”

 

As if understanding that it’s being talked about, the mass hisses with sparks. Their singular gaze hasn’t detached from the blond and Shizuo has to focus on looking elsewhere to not be entranced again. “What happens if you let them?” He asks. The demons gathered here are too calm and composed for this to not have happened before. So, how many times has this happened? If they’re so destructive apart, what are they really like together?

 

Rubi grins widely, swinging their body up and into a cross-legged position. “ _Chaos._ ” The word is exhaled from the demon’s lips with promised thrills.

 

* * *

 

Izaya hesitates outside of the alley shop. The air is different around the witches’ shop. Stepping inside, the brunet feels something wrap around his skin like latex before disappearing and his feet feel just the slightest bit heavier, noticeable only because of his history with running. The choker is snug and warm against his neck, making the stuffy shop feel all the hotter.

 

“Congratulations,” the young man behind the counter says unexpectantly.

 

Izaya’s eyes fixate and narrow on the witch. “Excuse me?”

 

His eye pop with confusion and he gestures to his own neck, “On your talisman?”

 

The informant’s hand jumps to touch the broach with his fingertips. Dēloun is gone, so his covenant must be null and void as well. Is he really free from those things now, though? If he’s left with re-summoning the demon, won’t he just be back at square one again, albeit with more knowledge.

 

“It’s not homemade, right?” The witch guesses correctly. How, Izaya would like to know. “Should I finish translating the book for you? It seems like you won’t be needing it.”

 

“What makes you believe that?” He inquires smoothly.

 

“Uh,” the young man startles, his eyes darting around with concern. “It-- It didn’t tell you?”

 

“He rarely told me anything worthwhile,” Izaya admits sourly. Granted, Izaya ignored Delic just as much as the demon purposely kept him in the dark. Anger is filling up the bottom of his stomach with the thought of more consequences. “What did it not tell me?” He demands, his eyes narrowing further.

 

The young man doesn’t answer, instead holding out the open grimoire for Izaya to take. His eyes flicker down to the pages the witch has it open on instinctively when his fingertips brush the old paper.

 

_Casual summonry of a blood demon requires a healthy summoner. One must be careful and conscious of how much of their blood they lend to the demon to perform their request. A blood demon could easily drain their summoner dry and are known to routinely attempt to._

 

Izaya’s eyes widen as he snaps the book closed so hard that the noise echoes through the shop. He expels all the air from his lungs to take a deep, steadying breath. His fingers are tightening on the old hardback book and his eyes are narrowing serpentinely as he begins to seethe.

 

“ _That bastard._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really meant for this chapter to be longer, so I'm sorry if this story stretches a chapter beyond what I predicted previous. I also apologize for how long it has been since this was updated! I hope everyone still knows what's going on, but, of course, I do write with the intention of reread value, so perhaps it's just a good time for a refresher!
> 
> I got a comment entirely in German on my last chapter. (I have a lot more ESL readers than I could have ever imagined, it's so cool!) I'm currently learning the language, but I'm not at the proper stage of communication for this, so I'm just going to use Google Translate to express my thanks.
> 
> Dein Kommentar ist so süß und nachdenklich. Ich bin begeistert, dass Sie meine Bilder lieben, diese Aspekte sind mein Favorit zu schreiben und zu denken, wie gut. Vielen Dank, dass Sie sich trotz der Sprachbarriere die Zeit genommen haben. Ich hoffe, Sie lesen weiter und es hilft mit Ihrem englischen Verständnis. Vielleicht eines Tages, wenn mein Deutsch besser ist, werde ich meine eigenen Werke für die Praxis übersetzen. (Bitte halten Sie mich nicht auf dieses Versprechen.)
> 
> I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback! As always, correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	25. For The Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya takes steps to bring Shizuo back.

Izaya storms back into his apartment nosily, startling Celty in her seat as the door nearly slams behind him. Her helmet spins away from Shizuo on the couch to watch him charge to his computer desk and dump the tome out of his bag. Without any pleasantries, he opens the book and flips through for a specific page, face pinching more and more with annoyance as he skims the writing.

 

Celty approaches him, hesitantly presenting her phone as he darts around to gather things from his drawers. “[Did you figure out how to bring Shizuo back?]”

 

“There _is_ no way without demon intervention.” Izaya plucks a pen from his drawer, grasping it tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. That bastard wanted to force his hand one final time. There might have been altruistic reasons to separate Shizuo from his body, but frankly, the blond was now a hostage. Izaya has to summon Dēloun, or _something_ equally or more untrustworthy, to bring him back.

 

“Shizu-chan is in a demon’s realm,” the brunet continues on more quietly, “even adept witches won’t try to bring him back due to the risk.” Untethering or snipping a soul from their body to aimlessly wander an ever-changing plane hoping to bump into whomever you’re looking for rather than a hungry demon wasn’t worth the risk, there was no arguing against it.

 

Glancing at the blond’s body resting on the couch to strengthen his resolve, Izaya sits in his desk chair and bows over the open tome, scanning the familiar seal to begin copying it down once more.

 

* * *

 

One of the demons squeaks, snapping the attention of the rest towards them. Dēloun's form ripples, a charge of sparks rolling down his mass like a wave. The loose energy spreads out as it hits the floor, static hissing as it rolls outwards. Hibi and Tsugaru remain still, unperturbed as the light bites at their heels as it passes. Rubi bolts up and backwards, body breaking apart like chalk in water and dissolving into droplets of blood in the air to avoid the electric magic.

 

Shizuo tenses with the expectation of being zapped as it reaches him and falls flat on his face as a gust of wind surges him forward, over the encroaching light. He growls as he twists back up and around, glaring gaze narrowing on another Izaya. The brunet snaps the fan in their hand closed with a flick of their wrist and presses it against their upturned lips as they offer back a wink. Shizuo flushes while the droplets of blood in the air collide back together, molding themselves next to the new demon in the pink kimono.

 

“You’re late for the show,” Rubi says with open boredom. Kimono Izaya’s eyes blink over to them, slitting with faint annoyance. With a quick blur, they smack the other demon over top of the head with their fan and flick it back open to fan themselves as they walk away with their nose up in the air. Rubi’s head rises slowly, red glowing eyes piercing through the blond mop and jaw clicking as it detaches to make room for more teeth.

 

“ _Cease,_ ” Subarashi commands, voice booming around the room and startling the two from their squabble. “There is _no_ time.”

 

Tsugaru exhales as he draws his pipe away from his lips, the misty smoke lingering around his face and the obscurance causing his crisp blue eyes to pierce through the fog. “Very well,” the demon murmurs as they step forward, Kimono Izaya in tow. “Keep him bound, Tsukishima.”

 

“I cannot,” they reply with a strained voice.

 

The new Izaya flicks their wrist as they join Tsugaru’s side, the fan in their hand spreading open with a sharp metallic _shick_. Underneath Dēloun the white floor begins to bubble, oozing an oily black substance that molds itself as it bleeds out, sluggishly forming a seal under the demon.

 

Tsugaru’s serious gaze narrows as he takes another, much longer, drag from his pipe. “Understood.”

 

* * *

 

Celty watches idly and with slight morbid curiosity as Izaya draws one of his switchblades and slices his palm over the seal. The informant’s blood drips onto the paper slowly, forming a small puddle that moves on its own volition. Unnaturally, the liquid smooths itself over the design, filling the entire circle.

 

Celty jumps when a loud crash of thunder booms through the apartment. Izaya flinches, not due to the noise but rather due to the jolt that races through his veins like a horse. His hand snaps up to touch the brooch on the choker.

 

Without a mirror nearby, his knife will have to do. Already clean of his own blood, Izaya watches the black writing of the seal change itself through the reflection on his blade. The design collides with itself, twisting and crooking before settling on a thick horizontal line. Izaya’s eyes narrow in confusion and suspicion, inspecting the lame new design when it suddenly splits apart and blinks at him.

 

The round pool of blood bubbles furiously, boiling over as it spits sparks like a wet electronic. The red mass expands rapidly, tripling in size and rising in the center. Its head forms familiarly, arms slowly lifting from the ooze one at a time to support itself. Be it by Izaya’s request, his desire, or its own desire, the demon molds itself in to the image of Shizuo Heiwajima.

 

The stark redness begins to fade as it lifts its legs from the puddle and stands itself up. Dēloun's form shivers as he stands still in place, image blurring around the edges like a multilayered image. His bright pink eyes are as vivid as they’ve always been, but the yellow glow eclipsing his image bleeds over the pure white of his adorned suit and the glassy appearance of his skin.

 

“Hello, Izaya Orihara,” he greets with his own and Shizuo’s voice layering over one another. “For what reason have you summoned me?” Dēloun smiles, lips curled up on both sides. Izaya openly glares at the demon. _As if he doesn’t already know why._

 

“Return Shizuo’s soul,” the brunet demands, “and explain what you’ve done to me.” He makes a quick hand gesture to the eyeball now occupying his brooch.

 

“I have done nothing to you,” the blond demon replies easily and without any hint of guilt. “Your new state is of your own doing.”

 

“I _did not_ purposely turn myself into a witch!”

 

“Surprisingly, not many do. Initiations are too rough for most.”

 

“You _will_ undo this curse!”

 

“I cannot, it is not within the possibilities of my magic.” Dēloun's head tilts downwards to even their height difference as Izaya approaches him defiantly. “You’re sincerely distraught, I apologize that the solution to your situation was not what you desired.”

 

“How,” the brunet demands with a quiet hiss of anger.

 

“If I can siphon energy off of you, you can siphon energy off of me. It’s a benefit of covenanting.” The demon says simply, as if he wasn’t revealing vitally important information he had kept to himself. “You weakened Psykhê for me, I must thank you.”

 

“ _Thank me?_ ” Izaya exasperates.

 

“Correct,” Dēloun chirps. “Heiwajima should be enough, right?”

 

Before Izaya can respond, the demon stretches out his right arm and spreads his palm. Crackling sparks of electricity spill from his fingertips and connect together in to a flat surface that floats in his palm. The informant recognizes the back of his own head on the mirror-like object before the doppelganger even turns to glare through it.

 

“ _Dēloun!_ ” The other Izaya hisses, storming up to the window to the human realm.

 

“Roppi,” he greets too cheerily for the perturbed brunet. “About that human--”

 

Hachimenroppi huffs, crossing his two sets of arms sharing his coat sleeves. “How _dare_ you not even so much as _ask_ before dumping such a…! A…! An aggravating _pes_ _t_ on me!”

 

“My sincerest apologizes, it was a tight situation--”

 

“ _Shove it!_ What is it you want _now?_ ”

 

The blond smiles brightly. “Said pest returned.”

 

Izaya watches the distorted image of himself harrumph with grotesque fascination. They turn away, supposedly looking for something, and he takes advantage of the time to whisper to Dēloun. “Why does this demon wear my face?” Psykhê had made sense, wanting to unsettle them all, but this new demon?

 

The blond demon shrugs dismissively. “I separated Shizuo with Psykhê’s magic. Your guess is as good as mine, unless you want to turn that in to a request.” He smiles again, this time directed at Izaya, with his teeth on display.

 

Izaya’s lip curls up in disgust and Dēloun laughs. “Knowing Roppi’s true face, I’d be grateful if I were you.”

 

“And your change in appearance?”

 

The demon perks up, eyes widening with wonder and darting down at himself. “I look different? Your mind requested that I appear as ‘Delic’.”

 

Izaya’s head tilts in mild confusion as the blond refers to himself in the third person. Earnest surprise laced his voice and honesty is all that Izaya can see in his unnaturally pink eyes. “You don’t realize the difference?”

 

“Perhaps it is you, witchling.”

 

The brunet bares his teeth to speak as Roppi’s annoyed, scrunched face comes back into view. “How am I to do this from here, hm?” The Izaya with in the red fur lined coat demands snappishly.

 

“ _Get me the hell outta here,_ ” yells a familiar voice off-screen.

 

“Patience,” another voice of Izaya’s reminds quietly.

 

“So, I _am_ getting outta here!”

 

Roppi leans forward towards the surface, glare intensifying more and more by the passing second with a dark red glow. “ _You have turned my private realm in to a_ _n_ _open house and I will have retribution, Dēloun._ ”

 

Delic gestures a thumb at the brunet alongside of himself in response to Roppi’s original question. “A lure portal should be enough, right? Easy enough for a fresh witch, especially with the great Hachimenroppi’s assistance.” He flutters his eyelashes for show as he schmoozes the brunet.

 

Izaya and Roppi’s eyes narrow simultaneously. “You disgust me,” the red demon spits before turning their attention to the brunet. “Prepare your side of the arrangement.” Roppi’s hand slices over the surface with a quick blur, breaking the connection. The flat surface crumbles back into sparks that die out like dwindling embers in the blond’s palm.

 

A sudden soft tap to Izaya’s shoulder cues his head to whirl, facing a glowing screen. “[How can I help?]”

 

Izaya’s eyes narrow as they turn from the device to the demon that signed him up for an unknown job without his permission. Not only does he not know what he’s expected to do, but the blond has yet to truly answer his question on how exactly he turned himself into a witch.

 

“Dēloun,” the informant starts with an authoritative tone, “I demand that you explain what happened to me.”

 

“And what will you give me in exchange for this information?”

 

“I’ll offer my word to not practice what I’ve read so far in the chapter for offensive spells on you.”

 

“What makes you certain that you could even harm me with those? I am a great demon.”

 

Izaya smiles a thin smile that stretches across his face like a knife slicing through a cloth. “Are you admitting that they’re useless on you?” Delic stays quiet, the corner of his lip quirking before blooming in to his own sharp smile.

 

“Summoning a demon for your bidding is not unlike cursing yourself, Izaya Orihara.” The demon produces his open palm as a stage, sparks molding in to the shape of an even scale. “Once tied together, it is your duty as summoner to maintain balance and control. For other demons, such as Hachimenroppi or Yubiwa, this is a simplistically easy give and take method. But demons like myself and… _Psyche_ , we’re demons of the mind.” Delic pauses momentarily, the sparks in his hand creating miniature silhouettes of the informant, himself, and his other half. The two twins disappear and reappear on one side of the scale as his own image takes a spot in the opposite bowl. “Control is not literal _power_ over the other in this context, but rather of the self.” The visual example explodes like a petite firework as the blond closes his palm. “Psyche always did underestimate humans,” Delic grins haughtily.

 

“ _Bastard,_ ” Izaya hisses after silently processing the demon’s words. The demon had probably planned this from the start. Perhaps it wasn’t even a plan, but eventuality waiting to take hold, spurred on by his own idiocy. Rather than admitting his most kept secret to the demon that had already seen right through him like an open glass window, he tried to assert the opposite and rocked his own boat. He tipped the scales and was preyed upon by both demons. Delic had professed to wanting a symbiotic relationship and the cost was always going to be Izaya’s honesty. He wonders, if he had admitted to his feelings sooner rather than later, would the demon have prepared him for Psykhê's seemingly eventual arrival?

 

“And the eye?” The brunet asks after a terse moment of silence, gesturing to the brooch.

 

“It was I that had to void our covenant, Izaya Orihara. In return, I had to offer back something substantial. Thus,” Dēloun says, his pink eyes glowing brighter, “my eye is yours. My apologies for the wait.”

 

Izaya clasps his fingers over the blinking brooch, its black eye as wide as his own. “The wait?”

 

Delic scratches his chin with a finger, expression growing sheepish. “Eating Psyche like that… I suppose to humans it’d be like eating too much fruit or vegetables in one sitting.”

 

“[Not to interrupt,]” Celty interjects, stepping closer to the duo, “[but Shizuo...]”

 

* * *

 

“Is that thing really safely contained like that?” Shizuo murmurs to Subarashi as he glances at the unconscious Psykhê on the floor next to Tsugaru.

 

“You cannot see Tsukishima, but their magic cannot be broken by Psykhê alone.”

 

“Do you two _ever_ cease talking?” Roppi spits, turning around from their work to glare at the two. “ _Some_ of us must work!”

 

The blond glares back happily. “The quicker I don’t have to deal with your shitty attitude, the better.”

 

Tsugaru exhales a cloud of smoke as they sit next to the sleeping brunet, the brunet adorned in the pink kimono standing idly by. “Pay him no mind. You must relax for your departure.”

 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that,” Shizuo sighs.

 

“Would you care for assistance?” The blond’s doppelganger offers with another, shorter, exhale. The silent Izaya opens their fan to gently fan themselves, a soft smile gracing their lips as they watch the mortal.

 

“No,” he replies tersely and without a moment’s thought.

 

“A passage should open shortly.” Hibi announces.

 

Shizuo’s head turns to Roppi’s work, gleaming what little he can from the heads floating in specific places and painted writing in a language that’s definitely not human. He should probably have more sense than to trust the demon, but they mutually agree that neither of them want him stuck here.

 

“ _You,_ ” the red furred brunet commands, pointing an accusatory finger at Shizuo then at the center of the drawn circle on the floor, “stand _here._ ”

 

The blond eyes the strange symbols peppering the circle, hesitantly doing as told. The floor begins to glow red as he enters the spell-circle, the dark cherry hue matching the demon’s eyes. “So, is it going to work like an elevator or somethin’?”

 

“ _No,_ ” Roppi tersely replies with a wave of his hand. The quick motion slices through the air, causing an ashy ripple to momentarily appear. Shizuo opens his mouth to ask what he should be expecting when the floor suddenly disappears beneath him. “ _Goodbye._ ”

 

“ _You shitty bastard,_ ” he yells back as the abyss swallows him whole. Air is absent in the pitch black space and nothing causes his hair to whip against his face or for his clothes to stick to his skin on one side. Shizuo’s only positive that he’s experiencing falling by the way his stomach seems to bottom out nauseatingly, like he’s waking from a dream that’s jump-started his heart.

 

It feels like several minutes pass before the sensation stops and Shizuo unceremoniously collides with something solid. Every part of his body feels foreign, from his fingers to his toes, and the world seems to spin with enough force to keep him stuck to the ground. There’s a hiss of pain from someone else as he gags and blinks gingerly, the bright lights burning through his eyelids.

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya chastises softly while rubbing his sore forehead. He hadn’t anticipated the blond to spontaneously rear up with a gasp, practically headbutting him in the process.

 

Shizuo’s eyes finally open, sluggishly adjusting to the light, as the brunet offers, “Welcome back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm so glad that I'm almost done with this project. It was one of my first exercises to get back into writing and boy, is it rough.) Now, real quick because I have gotten a few comments regarding confusion... I set up a whole lot in the beginning of this story (as I do with all of my stories in varying degrees) and, as is the nature of fanfic, there are varying amounts of time between updates. I cannot control what my readers may or may not have forgotten and it is not my job as a writer to hit my readers over the head with already established details like children, I do not want to talk down to my audience as I greatly dislike when my entertainment media talks down to me. Of course, I'm not forcing anyone to reread my works nor am I going to insult anyone for not wanting to skim something they've already read, but it has become a minor issue I must bring to attention. (Sadly, I can only do that here on AO3, and not on FF.Net.)
> 
> Shortly after updating this, I will be making a post on my writing tumblr, which is linked via my profile, about my current predicament and I'd like to ask my faithful readers to give me their opinions. (I'm currently stuck between a rock called "current unfinished projects" and a hard place called "other awaiting projects".)
> 
> As always, I really appreciate all of your comments and feedback, and correcting errors and tagging my fic for better accessibility is a top priority of mine.


	26. Epilogue; Lover to Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

“How do you feel?” Izaya asks softly when Shizuo recoils slightly from the brightness of Celty’s phone.

 

“Like ass.” His body felt weird; his skin too tight and insides aching, though his nausea from the trip is disappearing rapidly. With a frown, Shizuo rubs his eyes with his palms. “Shit’s too bright.”

 

“Well,” Delic interjects offhandedly, “you weren’t really looking at things with your eyes before.” Izaya immediately shoots the blond behind him a glare that lets him know that he’ll have to deal with questions upon questions later and Delic shrugs back exaggeratedly.

 

Shizuo massages his eyes to soothe some of the pulsing pain emitting from behind them, eventually removing his hands with a quiet sigh. “Izaya...” He trails off, unsure of how to go about discussing Izaya’s feelings and if now is even the best time for that. His weary eyes drift up and off of the floor to meet the brunet’s petite frown. It’s the concern swimming in Izaya’s eyes that settle his mind on the tried and true blunt approach. “I heard what you said to Psykhê.”

 

Izaya freezes, his body tensing and eyes widening a fraction. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you.” He mumbles sourly, frown furthering.

 

Delic taps Celty’s shoulder with a finger, gesturing to the other rooms up the stairs with a thumb once he has her attention. “We should give them space.”

 

After quickly appraising Shizuo for any injuries from where she stands, Celty nods and the supernatural duo slink away to give them privacy. Without the noises provided by the chatty demon and Celty’s typing, the living room settles in to an awkward silence.

 

The seconds tick by like hours and the air only grows more stagnant and oppressive as neither talks. Shizuo’s fingers twitch for a cigarette as Izaya’s urge him to reach for his phone in his pocket. Izaya’s eyes have fixated on the drawn symbols on the floor to avoid the blond’s gaze. Surprisingly, they hadn’t disappeared as the summoning circle had. The brunet had yet another thing to ask about later.

 

In actuality, only two minutes have passed, but it’s two minutes too many and Shizuo’s annoyed growl breaks the silence like his fist would a wall. “How long?” He demands, tone more angry than curious. Exactly when in his life he should start reevaluating Izaya’s actions wholly dependent on Izaya’s answer.

 

Izaya bites his lip instead of answering and Shizuo scoffs loudly. Disbelief paints his face, his lips parting and widening eyes unfocusing as they drift away from the brunet.

 

“Shizu-chan...” The brunet begins awkwardly, his mouth closing when Shizuo’s head spins back on him. The other man’s gaze more intense and hotter than before.

 

He licks his lips and bares his teeth with a disgusted snarl. “If you’re about to tell me that all of the harassment and torment you’ve put me through was just your _fucked up_ version of pulling pigtails on a playground, fucking _save it!_ ”

 

“It wasn’t.” Izaya retorts, his gaze lifting to glare back indignantly and his volume rising along with the blond’s.

 

“Then what was it, huh?!” Shizuo barks back, voice bouncing around the room as he sits up on his knees.

 

“It was about _me,_ ” Izaya snaps. His eyes widening to the size of saucers and a hand slapping over his mouth as what he’s admitted fully sinks in. Briefly, the brunet wonders if he’s being influenced to speak the truth, but, with what he currently knows about Delic’s magic, he can’t recall being spelled.

 

Izaya’s stomach sours as he concludes that it was simply _himself_ this time as well. Now that Shizuo knew the truth about his feelings, there wasn’t much else worth hiding and Izaya has always been an expert at digging his own grave.

 

Shizuo’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the brunet for honesty. Izaya no longer wants to meet his gaze, downcasting his sad eyes to the floor in thought. This confrontation is more awkward and tense than he first anticipated and he had no right to presume it would be otherwise. If Shizuo had to write down all of the things Izaya’s done to him and put him through due to his apparent misplaced feelings, he’d be stuck with a pen or pencil in his hand for _weeks,_ maybe even _months_.

 

“An apology would never suffice,” the brunet softly but obviously states.

 

“ _Damn right._ ”

 

Izaya’s now blank gaze lifts from the floor to meet Shizuo’s upset eyes. “I’m not expecting anything from you. I gave up that hope long ago, Shizuo.”

 

Shizuo opens his mouth, ready to argue about how presumptuous the bastard’s being by presuming that he’d even offer anything to begin with, when the brunet stands up shakily and speaks first. “I understand if you hold a grudge, I certainly have and would.”

 

“Izaya--”

 

“ _I,_ ” he starts too snappishly, pausing to breathe and calm himself. “I don’t really wish to discuss my personal failings with you, Shizu-chan. As fun as that might sound for you.”

 

Shizuo’s next intake of air is sharper than the last, his focus on the other man’s glassy eyes. Belatedly he’s realized that Izaya is trying to remove himself from their current predicament, all the while barely keeping himself put together. Izaya worked with masks and now, will all of them shattered, he himself was.

 

“Now that you’re safe and sound, I… have to go deal with a devil. You know where the door is.”

 

The brunet doesn’t hesitate, turning around and heading to the room that the supernatural duo had disappeared in to. Shizuo’s left alone in the living room, eyes staring off at nothing as he tries to process everything. He sighs heavily, pawing his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and quickly shaking one out to smoke.

 

Mumbling around his cigarette, Shizuo talks aloud to himself. “Shit’s still too bright.”

 

* * *

 

Once the door clicks closed, Celty doesn’t waste time typing out a series of questions. “[What was that? You absorbed Psykhê and disappeared, but you’re okay now?]”

 

“The others helped me, as I knew they would.” Delic answers confidently. Subarashi had yet to fail him for anything and, as aggravating as Hachimenroppi is, was, and always will be, the record keeping demon’s arm could be twisted so easily. “I am a demon, Celty-san. Recovery is as easy for me as I presume it is for you.” Granted, most of the work was on Tsugaru and their ilk.

 

Celty’s helmet cocks, appraising his appearance as he talks. She doesn’t see the difference Izaya had brought up, but the feeling of being watched while around the blond had disappeared entirely. The demon still radiated a supernatural warmth, inviting closer contact from those cold nearby.

 

“[Izaya said you were different, but...]”

 

“Ah,” Delic exhales, his pink eyes drifting towards the ceiling absentmindedly. “Izaya Orihara is a fresh witchling, there must be many new things he’s feeling and seeing. Though, he could always be correct if he found a flaw related to my person.”

 

Celty’s helmet threatens to tip over and on to the floor as she tilts it further. After everything that’s transpired, she’s feeling fairly agitated with the creature. Why are demons so damn obtuse?! Typing and shoving her phone at his face, the lit screen reads, “[A flaw related to your person?]”

 

Delic blinks blearily at the bright screen, as if the light and close distance actually bothered his ability to read it. “I am a dysphoric demon by nature, Celty-san.” He reminds her and her body jolts in place as she pieces previous bits of information together.

 

His private admittance of relating to her situation in-between lamenting the lack of alcohol in Izaya’s apartment. The furious and pained words he spit back at Psykhê during their fight.

 

“[They cut you in half when you went back?]”

 

It’s Delic’s turn to cock his head, forefinger resting against his chin as he thinks about her question. “I do not know and there is no way for myself to remember, even with my abilities.”

 

“I would have… to ask Tsugaru or Hibi.” He softly admits, eyes crinkling at the corners with a unique sadness she’s familiar with.

 

Retracting her phone into her sleeve, Celty reaches out a hand to comfortingly place on his shoulder. An awful creature or not, struggling with one’s forgotten memories and identity is difficult.

 

The blond demon smiles petitely at the gesture. “I appreciate your kindness. I am very happy that I can remember you, Celty-san.”

 

Pursing his lips suddenly, Delic’s head turns to the large windows, a new presence disturbing his attention. His eyes ignore the drawn blinds, instead skirting the perimeter of the large windows and stopping near a corner where the two walls meet the ceiling. Stretching between the corner and the blinds are several thin silver threads and a black spec knitting its nest.

 

The blond demon gives it an unusual smile, the corners of his lips quirking up as he rolls them inwards in effort to hide the expression. “Look,” he says while pointing at the spider. “Izaya Orihara’s familiar has already appeared.” Quite humorous that the creature chose that form, Delic thinks, having honestly anticipated a cat to show up.

 

Celty’s phone slides out of her sleeve as the door clicks open. Izaya’s weary gaze meets her visor briefly before turning his attention to the demon, still watching the little spider spin its web. Fully stepping inside, the brunet walks across the room to better examine the little arachnid that’s taken his demon’s attention. Something peculiar pulls at his stomach when he gazes at the pest invading his apartment and Izaya can’t resist figuring out what that feeling might be.

 

“It’s a Jorō spider,” he announces, recognizing the familiar species. His lips purse as he looks at the odd creature, noticing it’s trademark bright yellow coloring absent. “It shouldn’t be entirely black.”

 

“It’s not _really_ a spider, it’s your familiar. It might very well change forms one day.”

 

Izaya massages his temple with his fingers, sighing, “Alright.” There’s still an entire grimoire he has to read, but it’s obviously better to start with learning the basics of this new mess he’s tangled himself in.

 

“You’re free to let yourself out at any time, Courier.” He states, turning back around to face the duo. “I presume Shizu-chan has already,” he adds softly.

 

Delic offers her another sincere smile, tipping forward minutely with a bow. “In case we never cross paths again, it was a pleasure.”

 

Celty hesitates, looking between the two. Izaya needs space and time to recuperate from the torture he’s been through, and the demon still at his side might make that very difficult. She feels certain enough that she’s not needed anymore, though the new outlook she has on the informant causes her to stall.

 

With an understanding nod, she offers one last message. “[You have my number if you need my help.]”

 

As the dullahan exits the room, Izaya steps closer to the wall and presses his hand to it. The spider appears to notice him, carefully scaling down the wall and onto the back of his hand. It continues to crawl up his body as he pulls away and lifts his arm to examine his familiar better. It’s body is small, almost no bigger than his finger, but it’s thin legs stretch out to around triple its body length.

 

The unnamed spider familiar travels up Izaya’s arm and shoulder to his neck, its legs itching his bare skin with whispery prickles as it explores. Now out of his field of view, Izaya focuses his attention back on Delic. The corners of his eyes pinch and his eyebrows furrow lightly before he shakes his head and his neutral expression returns.

 

“Dēloun,” Izaya starts with a commanding tone. In the dim room, his reddish brown eyes carry a faint glow with an unusual intensity. “I’m requesting to reinstate our covenant, and I request that you teach me everything there is to know about my new predicament.”

 

Idly, the familiar carefully crawls along the brunet’s jaw and onto his cheek, drawing a quick glance as it stills there. The eye on his brooch refracts light from an unknown source, the design on the jewelry narrowing as if suspicious or annoyed. The demon’s smile twists, lips curling deviously as his neon eyes slowly scan the young man from head to toe with a new light.

 

Dēloun's main voice is a rich poisonous baritone that Izaya’s overly familiar with when he speaks. Viscously smooth and cloying like honey, syrupy sweet and overly saccharine to betray it’s true chemical contents.

 

“And what will you give me in exchange for this information, Izaya Orihara?”

 

Partially aware of what he’s getting into, Izaya’s posture remains straight and he doesn’t allow his voice to betray him and reveal any apprehension he may or may not have.

 

“Myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closure? What's that?
> 
> Well, everyone, An Information Bias is officially finished! I really appreciate each and every one of you that's stayed around to read, especially your comments! This was my first project in a long time and it's very rough in places, but with it I came back to my all-time favorite hobby and, hopefully, one day my career. Now that I'm actually writing my final author's notes for this, I really have no idea what to say! I wanted to finish this project by Halloween and... Well! With my living situation now different, I'm not sure if I can give this universe any spin-offs as I originally wanted. Perhaps one day I'll have the urge to write it some oneshots, but right now I must focus on my other projects. I won't be replying to any comments for this fic anymore, but, of course, my tumblr is still linked in my profile and is always available.
> 
> To everyone, I wish the very best and thank you for reading!


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